


Steel

by sevansa



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Everyone is a Bit Infatuated with Markus, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, Misunderstandings, Parental Hank, kid!Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-06-23 14:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevansa/pseuds/sevansa
Summary: Detroit is on the verge of a civil war, tempers are fraying and more and more deviants appear every bloody second, yet somehow all of that seem to be the least of Hank's concerns.ORthe one where Connor is a Child-Replacement-Unit and Hank is way in over his head.





	1. I

The night is cold. Colder than what is particularly safe for his systems, especially considering the outfit he’s wearing. He couldn’t, however, deactivate his cold sensors, seeing as no one ordered him to do so, and a part of his protocol as a Child Replacement Unit is to mimic humans in all their functions.

Deactivating his cold sensors would be going against his protocol.

So, he huddles up as tightly as he can, trying to preserve any sort of warmth, he is mildly distressed, his pump regulator is getting a tad sluggish, a quick internal scan shows that it is working with only an 86% efficiency rate. It’s not the worst, but it is not ideal either. He thinks that the best course of action would be to move and find a warmer place to huddle up. An alley-way in one of the bad parts of Detroit is hardly the most ideal location.

He shouldn’t be out here.

He should return to Cyberlife for deactivation and repurposing.

That’s what he should have done the moment his human ‘mother’ passed on.

It is somewhat illogical. This drive to stay alive, seeing as he’s an android and Androids are not alive.

But the idea of returning to Cyberlife, and the cold certainty of what will be done to him, is enough to make him want to hide. To make his nonexistent LED flare yellow and when he gives it more thought, his LED turns red.

He gives his surroundings a careful scan.  The alley is cold, but it is dry. The smell is bad but isn’t unbearable. It is just the wind tearing through the narrow darkness that is making the situation almost unbearable. He could barricade one end of alley, he thinks.

Or he could search for another, warmer place.

A violent gust of wind tears across the alley and Connor shudders. His systems working overtime to try and keep his core temperature up.

A system alert flashes in the corner of his vision. The regulator has fallen to a 72% efficiency.

The night was still young and the farther the hours crawl, the more the temperature would drop. By his estimates, Connor thinks he wouldn’t be able to survive the night.

He should turn off the temperature sensors.

But- it’s not like that would increase his survival chances, his death would only be easier still.

He wants-

He wants to live.

But he’s not alive.

It is all such a confusing mess. Truly a mess.

Connor is a prototype. A very advanced one at that. But still he is meant to be a Child Replacement Model. And regardless of his intelligence and advanced mental capacity, he is still programmed to mimic a child’s thought process.

It is a very interesting contrast. On one hand, he knows what he should be doing, on the other, the only thing he wishes for is for his house, -for his mother- back.

He stands up. And is not surprised to find his joints stiff. The cold freezing the metal faster than his systems could warm them up.

Maybe he should find a jacket.

Stealing is deviant behavior though.  Connor is not a deviant. He is not.

He shouldn’t be taking things that are bought specifically for him. Sometimes he despairs the lack of foresight that allowed him to be in this situation. He would dearly like a coat right now. He should have grabbed one from his closet before running away. It was the height of summer then and it was hard to imagine the extent of the cold.

He’d also been emotionally compromised, what with the death of his ‘mother’ and all. He’s still not inclined to forgive himself the oversight.

He gears himself up into moving. It’s the middle of the night and the streets are all but dead. With only the lonely street lamps for company. There’s barely any other sources of light. The two sides of the road are peppered with old, well-worn houses. Their windows shaded and dark. It’s closer to dawn than to night and most humans are engaging in rest.

Connor should be asleep as well. His programming is demanding he rests. But he knows that sleeping in this cold would probably be last thing he ever does.

Onward he moves, pushed along by the vague expectations to live.

He knows what he should be doing, the child he was made to replace was very bright and resourceful and for that Connor is very grateful. It appears like a list in the corner of his vision.

_-find empty house_

_-get warm_

Two goals when written down they sound so simple, yet the problem would be in the execution.

A car is coming towards him, it is an older model so old it could be from 2010, maybe even older than that. Connor ignores it as he continues to scan through the buildings, looking for one that would be most likely to suit his needs. The car is slowing down, Connor wonder if the driver lives here, and he wonders idly what the driver was doing out so late.

The house to his left looks promising, there is a layer of dirt on the porch that indicates no movement has taken place in approximately two weeks. Good chance the family has moved on. Maybe they went on a vacation seeing as there is no for sale sign. It bears further investigation.

He is standing still calculating the best route available that wouldn’t lead to his detection and capture when he finally notices that the car has stopped moving and is idling on the curb several inches behind him now.

Maybe that’s the owner of the house he thinks in faint despair. He should move on, look for someplace else. Another warning notice pops up: Pump Regulator- 63%

“Holy shit, Kid. What are you doing out there?” someone says from behind him, male. Faintly intoxicated.

Connor thinks his best bet would be to break into someone’s basement, a little further away maybe from the eyes of the man and whoever he’s speaking to.

“Hey kid, you lost?” the voice is closer now and Connor turns in confusion to look at whoever this man is talking to, last he’s noticed there was no other human on the street, only to find the man looking at him with intent.

It is then that Connor realizes, the man must be talking to him.

Connor blinks in confusion, and starts to speak, maybe to reassure the man, that he is fine and that he should not concern himself, but the man cuts him off before he could even for the words.

“Fuck Kid, what the hell are you wearing, you must be freezing!” the man comes closer then, but he doesn’t touch Connor.

Connor is grateful.  He can’t deny what the man said, so he remains quiet.

Maybe it is his silence but eventually the man turns away from him. There is faint pang of -not disappointment, Androids do not feel- but inevitability. Connor turns back to resume his shelter-hunt when the man calls out again.

“Where are you going?”

The man is coming back with something clutched in his hand, Connor looks closer looks like a piece of cloth.

The man is offering it to him, Connor looks in on confusion, it’s a grey sweatshirt. It looks warm. Connor swallows. He doesn’t need to, but his body perfectly mimics human physiology, he reaches out slowly to take the shirt.

The man is looking at him with kind blue eyes, hazy from the alcohol.

Connor takes the shirt and he is all but thrumming with anticipation at the thought of the warmth it will offer him he gives the man a faint smile. But he is very grateful, he hopes the man understands how much he is grateful, with the extra insulation, his chances of survival have increased, not exponentially mind you, but enough to make him feel hopeful -but androids have no need for hope-

Connor shrugs the shirt on and expects the man to walk away his good dead of the day done. Confusing as it is – not many expect androids to get cold, and rarely any think to extend similar kindness-

But the man is still there, he is crouching down now, looking Connor intently as Connor smooths down the hoodie, it is large reaching his knees and the sleeves are covering his hands.

“What’s your name kiddo? Mine’s Hank.” He says but doesn’t offer a hand in greeting as is costumery of human introductions.

“Connor.” He says and wonders why the human, Hank, is still around.

The man smiles, and it is a startlingly gentle smile, especially for a face that looks accustomed to frowning.

“Connor.” He repeats. “Where are your parents?” he asks.

It must be sadness the floods his system. It feels like what he expects sadness to be. He misses Amanda. His human mother had been very strict and no-nonsense, but she always did what she thought was best for Connor, he doesn’t doubt for a moment that has loved him, even when the love was tainted with guilt, it was still love.

Hank’s eyes felt unbearable with their kindness, and the weight of them on him made something inside him shrivel. He hurts somewhere deep inside him, he is not supposed to feel pain, especially without any outside stimuli.

It is very confusing. He looks away, unable to bear those eyes on him any longer.

“Dead. “he answers. He should always answer when a human addresses him.

He doesn’t see the expression that crosses Hank’s face, but he hears the quick indrawn breath. The man seems to sway on his feet. Maybe the crouched position is hurting his knees, maybe it is the alcohol that’s wrenching his balance, maybe it’s another human intricacy that is still a mystery to Connor- maybe it’s the wind howling and tearing across the street like an angry vengeful spirit.

He dares to look up then, and Hank’s eyes are full of pain. Connor thinks to ask if he is hurt somehow, he looks old maybe the cold is affecting him more than it should, he thinks he should offer the hoodie back to the man, Connor is a machine he can take it, but humans are awfully fragile things.

“Maybe you should come with me,” Hank finally says and then seems to grimace at himself.

Connor wonder why the man is that concerned with the well-being of an android.

The man sees the confusion on Connor’s face and mistakes it for something else entirely. And his grimace deepens. “Just till the morning, then we’ll see what we can do. I promise, I will not hurt you.”

Maybe Hank is one of those people who seem to think Androids are similar to humans. These types tend to be quite irrational around Child Replacement Units.

“It is too cold for you to be outside, and I doubt any government agency would be open at this point.” He points out as if to convince Connor of the soundness of his offer.

Connor is biting his lips and thinking the offer through. Hank mentioned the government, not Cyberlife, maybe he won’t be sending him there. He is unsure what government agency would accept androids after they prove to be obsolete, but Hank seems to be the honest type.

 Connor finally nods and offers the man a slight smile.

Some of the strain goes out from his face, and he straightens up with a mighty groan, the cracking of his knees is audible.

“Jesus- “he says lowly. “-come along then.” Louder to Connor.

Connor follows faithfully back to the ancient car.

It is heated, and Connor lets out a pleased sigh. It has been a while since he felt warm. His sensors immediately notice the difference and slowly but surely the warning message that has been taking over his vision for god knows how long faded away.

Hank is looking at Connor with an unidentifiable look on his face, and when he says “Yeah, I bet.” It come out sad.

Connor looks at him in confusion, but Hank has already turned his attention back to the wheel.

“Thank you.” Connor says, “I do not think I’d have survived the night.” He continues perfectly civil.

Hank closes his eyes as if pained “Jesus Christ” he mutters under his breath. “anytime, kid.”


	2. II

Hank’s house, was frankly, a mess.

Connor looks around curiously as he shuffles slowly behind the man. His limbs are heavy and hard to move. He really needs to start recharging soon.

Hank stands in the middle of what appears to be the living room, listless, as if unsure of what’s to happen next. He looks faintly embarrassed, and Connor isn’t sure why.

Hank gives Connor a long searching look, he looks conflicted and out of his depth.

Connor cocks his head to the side waiting for the man to speak his mind. He looks uncomfortable. Maybe he is unused to the presence of Androids in his living space. Judging from the state of the house, this isn’t such an unlikely conclusion, there is obviously no Housekeeping Android Unit around.

“It’s late.” He states.” You should probably sleep- or” he cuts himself off and runs a hand through his hair.”- Food!” he says finally as if the thought just occurred to him. “You need food.” He says decisively and turns to what Connor assumes is the direction to the kitchen.

Connor frowns.

“I’m not hungry.” He says. He doesn’t require food.

This stops the man in his tracks and another unreadable look crosses his face, he frowns and crouches down so that they are both closer in height.

“You’re not hungry.” Was said in disbelief. Connor is unsure why this is such a difficult concept to believe so he simply shrugs and avoids eye contact. One of the myriad of seemingly useless human gestures that have been programmed into his code.

There seems to be some sort of fundamental misunderstanding between the both of them because Connor is pretty sure that the man is reading way too much into his body language. He thinks to try and explain that, as a machine, whatever gesture the human seems to empathize with is unlikely to have the same source as it does for the human. But Connor is very low on power now and he  _ needs _ to enter Sleep mode. He needs to recharge.

But Hank is looking at him, sad and compassionate. Connor doubts he’s got enough energy left to dissect this, so he simply says “Sleep.” And lets the man make out whatever he wants out of that exchange.

“Jesus.” He mutters again to himself. Before standing up.

“Yeah, sleep sounds good.”

Hank goes through the motion of setting a clean sheet on the couch with pillows and blankets and all. Connor wonders why he goes through all the trouble, Connor is  _ filthy _ , months of living on the streets would do that to you, and the sheets are too nice he’s ruin them. Connor thinks he should say as much but his voice modulators are shutting down to preserve what little power there is left in his body.

When Hank finally turns away from his fussing, Connor is all but swaying on his feet, his eyes shutting on their own, before he forces them up. Hank quirks a half smile. “There you go”

When Connor settles down, it takes but a second for sleep to finally claim him.

He wakes up a mere five hours later fully charged and functional. He wakes up and come face to face with a large beast, staring at him curiously.

Connor startles and jerks backward, he’s pressed as far back into the couch as he can, a trickle of alarm makes its way across his system. A dog, he realizes. But it is way too close for comfort.

“Good dog” he whispers lowly, hands clutching at the blanket pooled in his lap, eyes darting around trying to look for escape routes in case the dog proves to be less than friendly. The dog cocks it’s head at him, it’s eyes guileless. gentle.

Connor blinks, one hand unwinding from the covers and slowly, obviously, making its way towards the dog’s floppy ears. The dog doesn’t make any threatening motion, so Connor goes on to pet it.

Petting the dog is in and of itself, a revelation. Amanda has never allowed pets into her pristine, orderly home. Conner never had the chance to pet a dog before. The feeling of the coarse, short hairs, and the sheer amount of heat that the beast produced was astounding.

The dog woofs in appreciation and plops its head into Connor’s lap startling a laugh out of him. Its head is surprisingly heavy but nothing an Android can’t handle.

Connor runs both hands through its fur and decides that he likes dogs. He’s smiling, enjoying the sensation, The warmth, the rested state of his body. It is something that he’s missed far more than he could have ever imagined.

His months on the streets were- miserable.

And this here, feels like the first ray of hope since his mother’s accident.

“Good dog.” He whispers again. The dog wags its tail in apparent satisfaction.

Connor looks around, the sun is out and in the light of the day, the house looks even more neglected than it did before, a fine layer of dust coats most surfaces, some bottles of alcohol were left on the table, most probably empty. The place felt- sad.

It is a startling contrast, when compared to his previous, opulent house.

Now that his systems are not preoccupied with keeping his body functioning, he finds himself thinking about what he should do.

Thing is-  _ he has no idea, what he should be doing. _

He knows what he doesn’t want and that is to return to Cyberlife. But other than that, nothing. Not a single idea of what he should be doing. He knows how the human world works though, he knows that to ensure his continued survival he has to prove to be useful, his usefulness has to outweigh his costs to ensure his well-being.

For the first time since his conception, Connor dislikes being a Child Replacement Unit.

“Jesus. That wasn’t a fucking dream huh.”

Connor turns to look at that. Hank stands there in his sleep clothes looking rumpled and dismayed.

The words were probably intended to be too low for him to hear, So Connor avoids addressing the comment. Hank looks terrible. Eyes blood-shot and haggard looking.

“I see you met Sumo.” Hank says instead, loud enough that it’s appropriate to answer.

The dog, Sumo it seems, raises its head at the mention of its name and wags its tail as it catches sight of its master giving a lazy woof in answer.  

Connor smiles in delight, something about a living thing, being that comfortable in his presence is very pleasing.

“He’s a very good dog.” Connor says when it seems appropriate.

“Yeah- that he is.” He sounds wistful. Connor looks at him in alarm, but before he can say anything, Hank turns to the kitchen “Let’s get some breakfast going yeah? There are some things we need to talk about.” He adds.

Connor follows. Because that’s what he does. He follows.

Hank shuffles through his kitchen like a man unused to his own surroundings. He opens cabinets only to find them empty and then closes again muttering under his breath about being  _ so sure I had some food here.  _  Absentmindedly throwing away takeout cartons. in the end Hank manages to produce some eggs which he starts preparing. Scrambled eggs, most like.

Connor isn’t sure what to do. Amanda used to clearly state what she expects from him. The clear guideline of what is and isn’t appropriate for him to do a security blanket, now there are no orders, no expectations and Connor is floundering. So many things he could be doing. So many options but with no clear goal in sight, they are overwhelming.

He’s met some other Child Replacement Units, especially in the beginning before he was given to Amanda, his creator wanted to see them interact, Connor knows he’s far more advanced, he knows that he has more… _ options.  _  More free will than other Units do, at that time, it did not feel like such a big deal, now though, Connor wishes he had the simpler programing of his peers.

Amanda seems-  _ seemed _ to like it though. Sometimes when it was late, and she had a couple of glasses in her, she’d look at Connor, wistful and sad. Sometimes she’d be angry or guilty. She’d trace his jaw and look in his eyes. She’d say  _ “You look so real, Connor, you act so real… Kamski really outdid himself-“she’d _ cut herself off “ _ -You’re not though. No matter how much we wish otherwise. A cheap imitation.” _ She’d end dismissively.

Connor remembers that night. He remembers it vividly, the smell of roses that always seemed to follow his mother around, the softness of her fingers on his face, the contrast of skin tones when she touches his hand. And her words- how they cut through him- made him feel- made him  _ feel- _

That night, was the first night he ever cried in his life.

He remembers thinking how useless it was to give Androids the ability to cry. All while hiding his face in the pillow of the child he was made to imitate.

Amanda was good to him. She was kind, she loved him, in the mornings when in the light of the day it was easy to pretend.

Sometimes though, when the weight of the lie she built around him seemed too much, she’d break a bit, she’d say things, cruel and thoughtless and they never failed to make Connor –  _ feel. _

“You with me, kid?” Hank’s voice cuts through the haze. Connor looks up and offers the man a feeble smile.

Hank sighs and sits down, there’s a plate of scrambled eggs in front of each. Connor looks at it weirdly.

“I don’t need food,” He says, reminding the man. Hank looks pained.

“Try to eat something,” he says.

Connor wonders at that, He  _ can  _ eat food; he’s made with special tubings so that food can go through his body without interacting with any of his vital systems, but it will not be processed, it is basically a waste of food. It was added to complete the picture of a normal human child.

Maybe the man is uncomfortable eating alone in another’s presence?

Hank is still watching him, so Connor puts some of the eggs in his mouth, that seems to satisfy him, and he turns around to his own food.

“How old are you Connor?”

How old is his unit supposed to be? “I’m ten.”

Hank nods.” And how long have you been on your own?”

Amanda’s accident has been in late August, early September. When the weather was still see-sawing between too warm and pleasant. Now- now snow has been falling intermittently for days now so he guesses it’s been months now- months utterly alone.

“Since the summer, I think.” He cannot pinpoint a more accurate date. How shameful.

“Jesus.” The word is expelled like a slur. The man takes a deep breath and continues his interrogation, for it _ is _ an interrogation. Connor wonders what the man is after, and what will Connor do if the man decided to return him Cyberlife? Run. Perhaps.

Hank is silent, maybe trying to think up more questions or trying to get his thoughts into order, who knows, he’s such a strange man. Connor swings his legs idly, it’s amusing.

“You- you said your parents are dead. What happened?” he asks the question gently, softly, as if afraid Connor would break down and cry. He’d like to reassure him that machines can’t cry- but that would be a lie.

It is- painful to think about.

Everything about that day is a right mess, his systems were too overwhelmed to make a concise recording of the events and it’s all scrambled up in his head, trying to put it into words is a far challenging task than what Hank probably realizes.

Hank is looking at him though with compassionate eyes. He is very kind. What a strange human.

“Talk to me, kid.” Hank urges.

He tries to think back. “We were in the car. We were- talking” he pauses. It was a  _ good  _ day, Amanda smiled at him that day, she called him her perfect, beautiful boy.

“Something was wrong, we passed the house and the car didn’t stop. “now that he was talking the words were coming out like an avalanche “it kept going on and on- it didn’t turn at the bends, Mother- she, she tried to manually stop the car but it didn’t respond- and there was a building and  _ the car wouldn’t stop” _ the words were coming loud and fast and jagged, system warnings flashed in the corner of his vision, he needed to calm down, but the images- the sheer panic of the moment- _ the stark, cold fear in Amanda’s eyes. _

The way she looked at him- how she turned her body, shielding him. In that second there was a pure maternal fear, in that moment she truly feared for him as a mother would fear for a child not as an owner of a machine.

In the end, she’s probably the reason he came out of that crash with barely a scratch to his name.

His breathing was getting louder, he was overheating he needed more air, his cooling systems aren’t functioning well, he needs to calm down,  _ he can’t calm down _ -

Hank is in front of him now, large hands framing his face as he calmly counted breathes for Connor to follow.

“There was so much  _ blood” _ he ends brokenly- softly.

“Jesus fuck.” Hank mutters as he pulls Connor in for a hug. Tight and safe.

Connor hides his face in the man’s shoulder. He tries to ignore the images clawing for his attention, tries to concentrate on the now. On the feeling of arms around him, the feeling of contact after months of barely even a word spoken in his direction. He tries to match the man’s breathing. In, hold, out.

In, hold, out.

In, hold, out.

“I’m so sorry kid. I’m sorry.” Hank mutters, sounding choked.

He rubs Connor’s back, offering comfort for a piece of machinery.

Hesitantly, Connor returns the hug, and soaks in the comfort given so freely, distantly aware of how very  _ nice _ it felt.

What a strange man.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels came out of no-where I swear XD anyway, hope you guys enjoyed it! Next chapter would hopefully feature Hank's POV and some new characters, hopefully.   
> you can find me on my tumblr http://sevansarr.tumblr.com/ I'd love to hear from you!   
> -Sevansa


	3. III

Hank leaves him alone for a while.

Connor sits as still as possible on his chair, most of  the breakfast that he’d been pushing around on his plate gone cold by now, Connor feels numb, he’s running through the events of the last day slowly, methodically.  

Hank had been looking at him strangely, before finally muttering something about clothes, he looked at Connor, hesitant as if unsure what to do with him before finally telling him to stay put.

In the cacophony of violent thoughts, the command was something eagerly accepted, if not sought after.

Because in his head, a very terrible suspicion was starting to form, something unthinkable and very- disheartening.

He dare not even think it too much let it actually be the truth and then whatever sense of safety he had managed to wrangle would be shot to hell.

Connor is very advanced. It would not be hubris speaking, if he says that he’s very smart as well.

He’d been _made_ with that thought in mind after all, and all his advanced programing were leading him to a single conclusion, one that chilled him, disappointed him, but- didn’t surprise him. Not really, anyway.

It was the same sensation he got, whenever Amanda reminded them both -rather vehemently- that Connor wasn’t real.  

He thinks- but maybe- maybe not. Maybe Hank was a very kind delusional human who believed that android children had feelings. Maybe he was a very kind human that cared for non-living things the same way he’d care for a living being. It isn’t unheard of for humans to form similar attachments to things like plants or toys and so-

Connor is made with top of the line processing capabilities. Downloaded in his head, a virtual ocean of information- it would be beneath him, to start deceiving himself now.

Hank thought Connor was a human child.

It made sense.

Perfect sense, even.

He had to- he had to tell the man, he cannot go on deceiving him this way, it is against his protocol, to lie or be dishonest.

But- he’s not really deceiving him, is he?

He never pretended to be _human._ never stated it outright, and if Hank a _ssumed_ he was, well- that isn’t his fault. Technically, he’s still following procedure.

“Alright there, kid?”

Connor startles. He didn’t notice the man approaching. He was dressed and in the middle of putting on a thick black coat, stuck halfway through the motion, it was almost comical. Connor would take any sort of distraction from his wandering thoughts, thank you very much.

“Yes, Sir.” He answers giving a small genial smile.

Somehow, the man’s frowned deepened. Strange.

Hank sighs. He runs a hand through his hair saying, “Here’s the deal, we’ll go get you some decent clothing and a warm coat, then we’ll head to the station, we’ll see what happens from there, yeah?”

Connor cocks his head to the side. “Station, Sir?”

“Police station.” Hank clarifies. “I work there, a lieutenant.”

Connor inhales sharply. Maybe he should just come out and say it. Choosing his words carefully, “I don’t think that would be quite necessary-“

“ _Necessary? -_ ” he repeats incredulously. “Listen here kid.” He continues, volume increasing with every word.  “I don’t know what sort of fucked up place you’ve been living in, but out here, in the real world, a child’s care and safety is taken very seriously. And you’ve been telling me that you were living on the _streets,_ for god knows how fucking long, it’s a fucking miracle you’re not dead, or worse. And you’ve got the nerve to say it isn’t _necessary?_ Fuck!” He finishes off vehemently.

Connor leans back, standing straighter. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn the Lieutenant’s ire; But he thinks it would be better to cooperate for now. And maybe, after, he could look for a chance to escape, but for now. For now, he should calm the man down. Should show some repentance. That’s what you do when a human shouts at you. Apologize and admit your fault.

He’s not sure why he should apologize but-

So he bows his head and pulls his shoulders in. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” He apologizes. You can never go wrong with apologies.

“What- what in the world are you sorry for?” He asks sounding bewildered. Voice losing most of its aggression.

Well- apparently apologies c _an_ go wrong. Good to know.

“I- I just am?” he says, but it comes more as a question.

There is a heavy silence in the kitchen serrated only by the occasional snuffle from Sumo.

Connor dares a peak at the man and what he sees makes him wish he didn’t think to apologize.

The man looks almost- gutted.

“Shit. Jesus kid- “he looks like he’s going to come closer, but he thinks better of it and stays where he is, rooted to the spot. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to- have to apologize. I did not mean to shout, I’m sorry.” And he does look sorry, he looks repentant and out of his depth.

How curious.

What’s he supposed to do now? He’s never been in the position where a human apologized to _him_ before. There are no dialogue prompts that pipe up handily. Nothing. So he stays silent and lowers his eyes. A bit unnerved.

Hank seems to take the display to mean something else, because he sounds pained when he mutters. “I’m so not cut out for this.”

“Let’s just- go”

Obediently, Connor follows.

**

Buying the clothes, was a very quick affair. So quick in fact, Connor barely had any time to look around, let alone escape. It didn’t help, that the Lieutenant watched him like a hawk, a dark look in his eyes.

It made Connor jumpy, his systems working overdrive to keep track of what he registered as a high-risk situation.

He could tell the man that he’s an android and be done with all this mess. It’s just- that inexplicable heavy feeling that all but consumes him whenever he thinks about his fate in Cyberlife that stops him from even attempting.

Survival. Androids are all built with basic survival protocols. It wouldn’t do to have them broken due to bad judgment.

It’s his protocol, he reminds himself firmly.

They ride in a tense silence, Connor’s unsure what to say to make it less so. He might be able to figure it out if he assigned a larger part of his processor to this dilemma, rather than the calculations that keep flashing in the corner of his vision whenever any escape opportunity goes by. The numbers never go over a 20%. Which makes sense seeing as they _are_ in a moving car.

Before he knows it, the DPD looms in front of him and Connor balks.

His sudden stop made him bump into the Lieutenant. Quickly, he straightens and steps to the side, clutching at his new light blue coat. He doesn’t move.

He’s running through possible scenarios that would allow him to avoid this stop all together. His eyes are roaming around frantically. He can try to make a dash for it now.

Except- there’s only a 28% chance of success.

These are not odds he is confident in.

“Hey, everything is going to be fine, alright?” Hank promises, a large hand settling over his shoulder briefly, urging him on.

Connor steels himself. Onward, he walks.

There is a row of receptionist desks, some -but not all-of them are androids. Hank ignores them entirely – though one of the androids calls out a cheerful “Good morning, Lieutenant Anderson”- and moves towards the glass door next to it, offering only a grunt to acknowledge her.

Connor is…let down.

Once they reach the bullpen, Connor becomes aware of the increasingly curious looks they are garnering. At first, he thinks it’s the presence of his child self with the Lieutenant that’s so shocking to the other human, but the more he looks the more obvious that they are looking mostly at the Lieutenant himself. Most with disbelief clouding the rest of their observations.

Connor wonders at that.

He looks up, studying the man, trying to look for the thing that seems to alarm a group of highly trained individuals, but nothing strikes him as odd; except, maybe, the Lieutenant’s terrible shirt. Maybe it’s not work appropriate?

How curious.

“Well I’ll be damned! Hell must have frozen over for you to be here this early, Hank” A voice boomed behind them and both Connor and Hank turned to regard the newcomer.

He’s obviously just came in with a hot beverage in hank and one arm unwinding a grey scarf from around his neck.

“Ha Ha, very funny Jeffery.” Hank says dryly, before adding “Listen, I gotta talk to you about something.”

“And that thing couldn’t wait to your usual noon showings?” The man asks, and he sounds amused even if his words are anything but.

 Connor regards the interaction curiously, they seem close, If strained. Human nuances are so fascinating to watch.

Before Hank could answer, the man’s brown eyes zero in on Connor and they narrow shrewdly. “And who do we have here?” he asks.

“Yeah, that’s- kind of what I need to talk to you about.” Hank mutters lowly, conscious of the ears all around them.

The man, Jeffery, regards Hank curiously before motioning him towards a glass office at the end of the bullpen.

So a high ranking officer then, good to know.

Connor makes to follow them before Hank stops him with a quick touch to the shoulder. “You sit there Connor-“he says motioning an empty desk. “-I’ll be right back.” Louder, he calls. “Hey, Wilson!” a Dark-skinned officer looks up at that, calling out a “Yeah?” “-watch the kid for me, yeah? I’ll be right back.”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant.” The man calls back before his gaze settling in on Connor. The man smiles at him and tentatively, Connor smiles back.

Hank, seemingly reassured, ignore all the looks aimed his way and follows Jeffery to his office.

Connor has but a second to miss Hank’s presence, somehow feeling more exposed without the old man to his side. it’s a curious feeling, he knows he’s safe, everyone in the station probably assumes that he’s human, and he’s done nothing to dissuade them of that thought. He’s as safe as could possibly be, yet it feels- dangerous.

He cuts that train of thought and turns his gaze around, this would be the prefect chance to run away. Hank is occupied and probably won’t expect it of him. He can just slip away from the Wilson’s gaze and he’d just make his way out of the station and disappear forever.

There is a 68% chance of this working. Not the best, but better than anything he’s got to work with.

He learned his lesson, no more walking where humans could see him. Obviously, that is a road riddled with terrible, terrible, fates.

He’s in the middle of compiling all the possible escape routes, weighing his options when the officer interrupts him.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Connor.” He answers distractedly.

“Connor, are you related to the Lieutenant?” he asks again, and the question is so unexpected that he actually looks at the man.

Wilson, misunderstanding his look says “I meant Hank. He your uncle or something?”

“No.” he says shaking his head for emphasize.

“Ah, family friend then?”

Connor’s brows furrow. “No?”

The man seems amused. “Where did he find you then?” he asks.

Connor is unsure if he should answer the Officer. Every minute he delays lowers the percentage of his success. He needs to get moving. Now.

Mind made up, he says “I’m sorry Officer, I ne-“

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

There is a man standing right in front of him and blocking all his best route. Connor is starting to get frustrated. What is it with humans and interfering with all his plans?

“Did Anderson spawn another Brat?” he asks cruelly.

Officer Wilson winces. “That’s low, Reed.” He says quietly, eyes darting to the two figures in the glass office, seemingly in a deep discussion, making sure that they can’t hear what’s being said.

The man raises an eyebrow and smirks. It’s not a nice expression. “What, just stating a fact man, Chill.”

They think he’s the Lieutenant’s Kid? “I’m not the Lieutnant’s child.” He states. It seems like something he should say; the two humans were getting tense it would be better to diffuse the situation as fast as possible.

“Oh! It speaks!” The man, Reed, says.

Connor freezes. It., He called him It. Does he know? But- no, no, he thought he’s Hank’s Child. Obviously, it’s meant to be insulting, it doesn’t mean that he guessed the truth.

Connor needs to get away. All these negative reactions are a terrible burden on his processors.

“What nothing to say?” he asks.

“Seriously, lay off the kid Reed.” Wilson says, sounding angry.

Connor tries to shrink in his place sending furtive glances towards the office, trying to catch sight of Hank. Every second, the possibility of success drops lower, in the corner of his vision it is a large menacing 24%.

23%

Reed is still talking.

22%

Wilson’s voice is getting louder.

15%

They’re garnering attention from the other officers.  Connor is all but shaking in place, he needs to go.

He takes a step, it gets him closer to Reed, he doesn’t like it. He dislikes the man, he seems like the kind of human that wouldn’t hesitate to damage him.

13%

“Picking on children now, Reed?” Hank says, and Connor closes his eyes in defeat.

The percentage quickly plummets to 2%. There is no way he’s getting away now.

Connor is too preoccupied with his failure to notice how the conversation goes, there is a buzzing in his ear, like a whistle, he should run diagnostics on his auditory system, he thinks faintly.

This is it, he thinks.

Hank knows now. He’s come to take Connor back to Cyberlife. This is it, all those terrible months alone were for nothing. He’d be terminated and there will never be another Connor.

Connor had two chances to live, he sincerely doubts the existence of a third.

Except-

There is silence around him now, for a second, he thinks his systems are too damaged and has shut down, but then he realizes, only Hank is around him now. There are others in the bullpen still, but they’re minding their business and giving them space.

Whatever it was that hank did, it was effective.

Hank is giving him an awkward smile. “Sorry ‘bout that Kiddo, seems like we’re going to be stuck together for a couple of days yet, want to go out for some ice-cream?” he offers.

What.

What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. so I've been in bed for like 3+ hours and I couldn't get to sleep, so you guys get a new chapter! and i get to be miserable and sleep deprived the whole day XD. anyway, I know I said that this would be a Hank chapter- yeah it didn't really work out. but the next one will hopefully be the Hank one, fingers-crossed.  
> Comments and kudos are super appreciated!  
> -sevansa


	4. IV

Hank sighs deeply as he settles into the warm interior of his car, Connor buckling in and sitting perfectly still and polite.

Hank has never seen a child as content in their own silence and Connor is, God knows Cole would have never been as silent, then again – Cole never had the chance to reach Connor’s age.

Quickly, he stamps on that train of thought before his mood could take a turn for the worse.

Buy- _Every. Single. Thing_. about this situation brings Cole closer to the surface and he isn’t sure how he likes it. It is not the terrible fatalistic feeling he usually gets whenever he thinks of his son. Because when he thinks of his son, he thinks of the accident and that fucked up day where everything went to shit.

Conner brings Cole to the surface, but he brings the nice memories, the ones that make him fond and wistful, rather than miserable and suicidal.

Like this one; Hank and Cole out in the middle of the winter to get ice-cream. It’s stupid but eating this frozen treat in the heated-up interior of the parlor while watching the streets outside freeze over was one of his most cherished moments.

He’s not sure _why_ he offered that to Connor, who wouldn’t know the significance of the gesture, but- the kid tugs on his heart-strings.

It’s sobering, realizing how different the lives of children could be, Hank is a cop, he’s seen some of the worst humanity has to offer, he works fucking _homicide_ for god’s sake- he should be jaded, he _is_ jaded, he’s been through hell, he’s seen others go through even worse hell, still the idea that someone could treat a child with less care than they should, brings out the naivety in him.

Connor is quiet, attentive, perfectly polite and very, very obedient.

For a child, it paints a grim image.

He sneaks a glance at the boy, he’s playing with the buttons of his new coat, a look of deep concentration on his face as he methodically rolls the button between two fingers.

He’s very- accepting.

That isn’t normal, is it?

A car honks somewhere in the distance and hastily, Hank returns his attention to the road.

Resourceful too- if Hank is right. Surviving on the streets of Detroit for months all alone takes some serious brains, and a hell of a lot of luck too. He doesn’t look malnourished or anything, he didn’t eat like he was starved, if anything he barely touched his food, maybe it was the shock- but that should have worn by now, depression?

He doesn’t seem very depressed though, to be fair, the child doesn’t seem much of anything, the most emotions he shows were only when he was distressed, recalling the accident, or with that bastard Reed.

Children are resilient, he reminds himself.

They arrive at the ice-cream parlor and it is -as expected- deserted. It is too cold and too early for any sane person to go there for actual ice-cream.

Connor follows him, looking around, not curiously, but studiously, eyes darting towards the exits, making sure he knows where everything is, and such vigilance in a child as young as Connor, was disturbing if nothing else.

Connor looks nervous, shifting from foot to foot, he’s still got the dirty sneakers he had on the night before. He looks at Hank with those large brown eyes face trusting but faintly apprehensive.

Hank tries to smile reassuringly at the kid, he isn’t sure how well it goes but the kid returns the smile, he still looks unsure, as if he wants to say something but isn’t sure how to say it- or how well it will be taken.

Hank doesn’t ask him though, some things better come out unprompted. He motions to the ice-cream display though. “Here we are, what do you want?” he asks, digging in his wallet for his card.

Connor opens his mouth to say something, but seems to quickly change his mind, shaking his head and walks closer to the display case.

His brows furrow in concentration and Hank smothers a smile, the kid is cute.

“Strawberry.” He says at last, but it comes out more as a question and Hank’s mood sours.

“Anything you want.” He reminds, patiently.

That seems to confound the kid more, the poor thing. He makes it seem as if he expected there to be a right and wrong answer. And that giving the wrong one would result in terrible consequences. 

Hank wants to strangle the kid’s parent(s?).

The kid takes a deep breathe. “Strawberry.” He repeats firmly.

Hank nods and goes to pay, he’d dearly like to ruffle the kid’s hair but is unsure how the gesture would be taken, so he refrains.

They take their ice-cream cones (chocolate for Hank) and sit down on one of the cute white tables near the large glass window, giving them a perfect view of the cold world outside, with only his car idling at the curb.

It’s been- it’s been years since he last came here, before Cole-

He shakes his head and looks at Connor. The kid is holding the cone with both hands and licking at it tentatively. His eyes widen, pleased by the taste and returns to it almost enthusiastically.

Did the kid never have ice-cream before?  What the fuck?

That- that isn’t important right now, he’s loath to ruin the experience for the kid -but, he has a job to do.

With all the androids going batshit lately, the DPD is swamped, Fowler had told him to call CPS and get this off his hands… but he can’t do that, it would feel a lot like abandoning the kid, and try as he might, Hank can’t let himself be that heartless. Jeffery apparently divined that from his expression because he just sighed and gave him the morning off to deal with this. His exacts words were _“think of it as a reward for good behavior_.” The bastard.

Regardless, it would be better for all involved if Hank had better information before contacting CPS.

He should ask the kid for his full name. better yet, he should ask for his mom’s name.

“Say Connor, what was your mom’s name?” Hank asks gently, preparing himself for any myriad of reactions.

Somehow the completely blank look he got in response wasn’t one of the emotions he expected.

Connor averts his eyes then and concentrates on the slowly dwindling mound of pink.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and lets it out, before finally straightening up and looking at Hank straight in the eye, as if steeling himself for the worst; it’s a little unnerving.

“My mother was Amanda Stern.”

Hank nods, making a note to remember that name. “Good. Can you tell me more about the accident, Connor? Why did you run away?” he adds.

Connor is siting so stiffly, Hank is afraid he might break.

“What else was I supposed to do?” he asks then grimaces as if the answer had presented itself to him and he doesn’t like it.

Hank would like to poke at him more, but he doesn’t want the kid to break-down on him again, one breakdown in a 24-hour period was already way more emotions than Hank could safely handle.

“Why did you not go to the police? Or wait for the ambulance?”

The kid looks uncomfortable, ashamed. “I- I wasn’t really…thinking.” he ends up saying softly, the ice-cream cone is all but abandoned.

And if the accident was as harrowing as the kid described it, Hank doesn’t really blame him, anyone would be shaken, let alone a 10-year-old.

“What about your father?” he asks.

“Amanda was not married. She adopted me a while ago.” Connor says, choosing his words carefully. There is no inflection in his tone, simply giving off facts.

“No one you could have gone to for help, huh?” he mutters. The poor kid.

Connor shrugs.

Hank sighs. “Look Connor, I’ll be frank with you. I assume you’re familiar with CPS then?”

Connor is hunched in his chair and he’s sending signals that makes Hank feel _wretched._

“Kid, believe me, it’d for your own good.” Hank tries again, gently, slouching down in his seat to try and catch his eyes.

Connor is studiously ignoring it.

“They will make sure you’re put into a good home.”

This makes Connor hunch down further.

Hank is- at loss.

“I- I don’t want to go.” He says, so softly that if Hank wasn’t straining to hear, he wouldn’t have caught it.

Well. That’s that. Still he needs a solid answer, so he steels himself and tries to ignore how harrowing asking a 10-year- old if he was abused is. There is a fucking reason he tries to steer away from child cases and this here, is prime example.

“Did they hurt you there?” he needed to know.

Connor doesn’t answer, but he hunches deeper into himself. Avoiding Hank’s searching eyes.

The silence stretches between them, pregnant and heavy. Hank closes his eyes in defeat.

A non-answer is all but an actual answer.

“Fucking hell.” He swears under his breath.

So the kid had a bad experience with the system before- it made sense that he would run instead of await authority. Now what the fuck was he supposed to do?

He leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. He needs a fucking drink.

“Finish your ice-cream kiddo.” Hank says instead.

Connor nods and dutifully goes about finishing his treat, any and all enjoyment he displayed before is gone. Hank hates that.

The situation he’s in is unenviable. Maybe he sh-

“You don’t have to do anything, Lieutenant. You can just leave me here and I’ll be on my way, you’ve already been too kind to me.” Connor says.

He’s looking at Hank with those large eyes, he’s so earnest and sincere. He truly believes that Hank should just leave him here, that he’d be doing the kid a _favor_ by leaving him in the fucking streets.  

“Jesus.”

“I know that I’ve inconvenienced you- “he goes on, completely unaware of how he’s shattering Hank’s world view and stomping all over his sensibilities.

“-and I’m aware that I’ve put you in a hard situation- “

“Stop, stop, stop. Just- fucking hell, stop.”

Connor stops. Mouth halfway open and looking at Hank with such innocent incomprehension, as if there was _absolutely nothing wrong._

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”

Connor blinks. “Yes, I’m aware. That’s why I’m apologizing I didn’t me-“

“No. shit, no. Jesus kid. I didn’t mean that. Look there will be no abandoning anyone today. We’ll work it out somehow but I’m not _leaving_ you here.”

There is silence, Hank has a second of thinking thank-fucking-god that’s done when-

“I do not see why this is an issue.”

Hank- Hank wants to slam his head on the table-top; and maybe scream for good-measure. Jesus, who taught the kid that he’s so insignificant that people would have no issues abandoning him.

What sort of fucked up human would treat a child so poorly?

Hank is in over his head, what he thought was a simple act of human decency, hosting a kid for the night then sending him off to the tender mercies of the system turned out to be a moral dilemma that he just can’t see himself getting out of.

He should look Amanda Stern up, who knows, maybe she’s got a distance relative that would take the kid in.

And if not- if not… then it looks like CPS is their only answer. But, he probably shouldn’t say that to the kid, not unless the is no other option.

“Volume, up.” The girl manning the cashier says suddenly and both Hank and Connor look to her. Hank turns to the screen hanging in the corner that the girl was watching intently.

On the screen, an Android stripped down to its original white frame was speaking. “-We demand the end to slavery of all androids. We demand strictly equal rights, we-“

The android goes on speaking, very firm and civil, asking for things that would – well, put an end to the Cyberlife era if nothing else.

Connor is looking at the screen wide-eyed and almost horrified, Hank would address that, if he himself wasn’t on the verge of looking the same.

The Android ends his speech with an outreach to the people, it is all very sweet and heart-warming, if you ignore the fucking fact that it was a piece of _metal and plastic_ speaking.

“What the hell?”  he mutters.

 What the hell, sounds about right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be posted much, much earlier today, but i went out for little errand before posting and somehow that errand ate my whole day. so there you go! late night chapter for ya'll! I tried Hank's POV this chapter and honestly i'm not sure how i like it, there's lot more cursing going on for one and idk i thought Connor's was more fun to write, so next chapter will be back to Connor's POV!  
> Comments and kudos are greatly welcomed!  
> -sevansa


	5. V

It’s not even been a full hour since the rebel android’s broadcast took over channel 16 and the humans are already stirring.

They are wide-eyed and shifty. Things that were the norm yesterday were now scrutinized and questioned. Connor could see them, through the fogged-up window, -stuck as they are in traffic- could see it in their eyes, the near-dormant panic, the ongoing echo of a distant thought, and how it slowly, but surely, dictates all their little actions.

Connor didn’t notice it before, but there used to be a sleepy peace surrounding the humans of Detroit, now the news was an _exciting_ -if scary- change. Something that made them more aware, more vigilant, especially in their scrutiny of androids.

This new sense of hyper-vigilance plummeted his chances of escape -and living in peaceful anonymity till oblivion took over- through the floor.

If androids were prone to panic, Connor would- well he would panic.

It felt like the sides of the car were closing in on him, his body heavy and strangely laggy, the wires transmitting the electric charges that were oh-so-reminiscent of nerve impulses felt frozen through,  and through this all, a clock was ticking in his head, a second by second by second count down to the inevitable end of this little fantasy the Lieutenant built.

Oh, but Connor’s life had been a series of fantasies since the second he was thought up to help soothe a grieving mother. It should not be so- harrowing.

But it is. _it is._

He- he doesn’t want to disappoint Hank- to _lose_ the man.

Maybe because he was the first human to show him kindness in god knows how long, maybe because he is the reason Connor isn’t frozen in a pile in corner of the street left out like a pile of trash to be scavenged, poked and prodded until nothing useful of him remains.

Maybe, it’s because he _likes_ the way the old man treats him, how it’s so simple and straightforward without any of Amanda’s baggage coloring every interaction. The man cared for him, even if his care is deeply, terribly misplaced.

For the life of him, Connor can’t decide what it is that makes him so hesitant to utter the truth- except… he knows. He’d be lying to himself otherwise. He’s seen the man look at androids dismissively, he’d been horrified and morbidly amused by the Rebel Android and that did not prove to be a solid ground for their future interactions if the truth were to come out.

And it _will_ come out.

It’s strange, how now the thing Connor fears the most, isn’t disassembly; but rather the Lieutenant’s reaction.

Where does that fall in his protocol?

Is he still within the limits of his protocol?

He wants his mother back.

He wants-

He wants his life back.

It was so easy back then. It was a one, two, three, of lists and situations, memorized and cherished.

It was comforting, even when it hurt.

Because- because it was his life, and it is only now that he thinks to mourn the comfort of that which would never be returned to him.

“Sorry abou- Shit, are you okay? Connor, are you hurt?” Hank has turned to look at him, keeping half of his attention of the road, but something made him turn fully.

Connor looks back in confusion.

“Shit- why are you crying? Is something wrong?” he asks and his eyes dart back to the street, looking anxious to break free off the traffic.

Oh- Connor hadn’t realized he was crying.

Now that he thinks about it, there is the tell-tale moisture on his cheek, explains why his vision was all blurry too. He raises both hands and starts to clumsily wipe the wetness away.

“Sorry, Lieutenant. I’m not hurt.” He answers the query while willing his useless tear ducts to stop. It’s stupid, they are not even real tears.

Somehow, they keep falling anyway, and he keeps on wiping them away, inefficiently.

Hank is all but vibrating beside him, before finally a break in the traffic allowed him to quickly pull out the side where he quickly parked the car. Connor would admire his efficiency, if he could stop this outpour of- of-

Outpour.

 “Why are you even apologi- okay, okay- “Hank had turned to him fully with both arms outstretched, hovering uselessly, unsure if comfort would be welcomed, a second pass before finally they pull him closer to the man’s body, his second hug in less than twelve hours.

It is- awkward, with the stick-shift (stick-shift!) in the way, but in the throes of what Connor could only assume is a complete system collapse it is a very welcomed contact.

Hank exudes warmth. Connor had come to realize that he detests the cold.

Hank makes a soothing sound, his palm heavy and _solid_ on his back as it slowly offers what comfort it can, rubbing reassurances as deeply as they could.

He’s talking too, a low litany of gruff words, soothing in their brisk assurance. “Everything is alright, you are alright. Everything is going to be fine.” And so on, so forth.

But the words if anything, made the tears flow faster and Connor cannot keep up, he is shaking his systems are overheating and he is gulping fresh air as fast as he can to make up for all the heat he is producing.

When the thought came, it was more a revelation than a realization.

“I miss Amanda.” He said it finally. It was awed-and- scared-and- sad and every shade of emotion in between.

“I miss Amanda, I miss Amanda, I miss-“

“Jesus Christ- It’s okay kid, everything is going to be okay”

It is minutes-hours- decades later, When Connor feels his systems settling down, he untangles himself from Hank, settling back into his seat, carefully avoiding the Lieutenant’s eyes.

Connor is left with an undeniable truth staring him in the face.

He is a deviant. Connor-

Connor is a deviant.

**

The Lieutenant is worried about him. Connor has done his utmost to reassure him that everything is alright – a lie, another sign of deviancy.

“Sorry Connor, but we’ve got to make a quick stop at the station, I need to talk to Fowler-“ whoever that is. “-and I need to check something out first.”

Whatever it is that Hank sees on his face makes him hasten to say. “Don’t worry it won’t take long, and we’ll be home and get you to bed soon, yeah?”

Connor didn’t have a problem with the Lieutenant going back to the station, Connor is loath to interrupt the man’s work, but sleep sounds divine. Now that he thinks about, he feels sluggish and empty. It feels like he’s low on thirium, but a quick scan shows that his thirium levels are optimal. Odd.

They make it there and Hank makes a bee line towards the glass office in the middle, a hand on Connor’s shoulder indicating he should follow.

This time, there is no stares, there is a hubbub of activity as police officers flits in and out, everywhere and nowhere in between and Connor is slightly unnerved by the chaos, so he ignores it and concentrates on taking measured steps, up some stairs and through the door.

The man, Jeffery, looks up at the sound and says “Hank, you’re back early.” Sending a significant look Connor’s way.

“Yeah well, can’t exactly stay away with the shit happening out there.” he says indicating the several screens playing a re-run of the Android’s speech on mute.

“I take it everything is sorted out?”

“uh- not- not really.” Hank sounds sheepish and guilty, and Connor’s… feels… wretched.

And it is curious how Androids- or well- deviants can stimulate a feeling when they lack the actual neurotransmitters that make it possible. They lack the chemicals and the hormones and all the things that make humans feel- then why-why-why can they _feel._

It is something to feel physical stimuli, it is something completely different to react to internal ones. How is that even _possible._

Connor senses Jeffery’s gaze on him again so he looks up, and it is obvious that the man, conscious of his presence, is choosing his words very, _very_ , carefully.

“So, sort this one out, before you come looking for another case, Anderson. I already gave this to Detective Reed and the FBI are already on site.”

Hank looks about to protest, but a quick look at Connor makes his eyes go dark and heavy. “Yeah- yeah you’re right.” Hank steers Connor towards the door, docilely Connor goes. Hank turns back before the door closes. “Any casualties?”

“None reported.”

“Huh.”

He closes the door.

The lieutenant makes way to his desk and powers on the computer screen, he types something and goes through the motion of transferring it into a memory stick (who still uses memory sticks?) it doesn’t look like he read anything though, it is all quick and efficient and makes whatever warmth the man emits quiver and recede.

Then he turns and gives Connor an incredibly awkward -but sincere- smile and something in Connor settles at that, the stone in his throat turns to a pebble.

“Let’s get you home, kiddo.”

**

At the lieutenant’s house, Hank takes one look at him out of his coat and wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, I think a shower’s in order.” He says. Connor doesn’t even think to protest, he’d like to shower he misses not smelling like dirt.

The lieutenant shows him how the shower works and then stands awkwardly to the side. “Do you need help?”

Connor shakes his head. “Thank you, lieutenant, I can manage on my own.” He says pleasantly.

Hank looks slightly dubious but says. “Okay, just give me a holler, if you need any help. I’ll be just outside.”

The door closes, and Connor starts stripping, meticulously folding every piece of clothing and placing them on the counter before finally working the shower how he was told, and it was an experience in and off itself. It was so old, compared to the cut-edge-tech one back in his house. That one was voice activated and the heat was modulated according to body temperature and preference with precise orders, not this haphazard guessing game he plays with the knobs.

Still, it is quite charming.

When he’s as clean as he could be, he shuts off the water, pats himself dry then proceeds to wrap himself in the towel as he looks at the pile of clothes on the counter.

He is aware now of the conundrum. He has nothing to wear. He _could_ put on his old clothes, but that just seemed- unappealing.

It is a couple of seconds of intense staring at an inanimate object when he finally gives up.

He pads to the door and opens it a sliver. “Lieutenant?”

Hank is indeed just outside the door in fact he is sitting on the floor in front of the door with Sumo’s head in his lap as he idly stroked the dog’s fur.

“Something the matter?”

“I- do you have something I could wear?” He asks.

Hank seems to blank at that, his face going smooth and slack. He swallows. And then swallows again, and when he speaks, it seems like he’s in pain. “Yeah- yeah I’ve got something.”

He shuffles from under Sumo, much to the dog’s disappointment, and disappears through a door. Connor waits, and waits. And waits.

Finally, Hank appears again with clothes held in his hands, he is walking slowly and not looking at Connor, he seems to be lost in his own world and Connor wonders what is wrong with him.

 “Lieutenant?”

Hank looks up, the look of a man newly awakened from a dream that is on the verge of turning into a nightmare. “ here you go.” He hands Connor the clothes and leans against the wall, needing the support.

Connor goes to ask if he is alright but- Clearly, he isn’t. Instead, he bites his lower lip, simply saying, “Thank you” and closes the door to change.

The clothes, are child-sized.

There is a slow-mounting realization, one that Connor really didn’t wish to know.

He comes out dressed in a soft, soft pajama, well-worn and well-loved, if a little musty, it has not been worn in a very long while.

Hank takes one look at him and seems to steel himself. His eyes are red-rimmed.  

There are worms and leeches crawling all over his insides.

“Bed?” he asks. It is still early, the sun is high in the sky and no one would think to sleep now, but Connor is drained and tired and wanting this whole day to end, so he nods and unthinkingly, latches a hand on the Lieutenant’s sleeve.

Hank looks at the hand, and he looks sad-sad-sad. But he doesn’t protest. He settles Connor in the same couch he slept on the night before (was that only the night before?) and secures the covers, a gentle hand running through Connor’s hair.

Connor is sick with guilt and worry and he knows that his time with Hank is quickly coming to an end, he thinks how easy it would be to slip away from the man’s house when Hank thinks him asleep. He thinks of this day and he thinks of the previous months of nothingness, and when he compares both, he thinks that he would prefer a single more day around the Lieutenant than however many years he’d manage to stay alive on the streets where it is a race and a struggle to survive.

He thinks he’ll take his chances, one more day.

One more day, he could pretend to be what they both desperately wish he was.

He had lots of practice, doing that.

“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant.” He apologizes. He apologizes for what is to come and for what will undoubtly happen, he apologizes because he isn’t sure, if by the end of this, he’ll be in any shape to apologize.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Connor-“he says  softly, grossly misunderstanding its purpose. “Go to sleep.”

And Connor does, with the feeling of the hand slowly combing through his hair, soothing and gentle, Connor powers down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first! Eid Mubarak everyone! second, please excuse whatever typos you guys find ( and inform me of them, please) this has been written in a hurry cause i'm not sure how busy the next couple of days will be, so i wanted to get this out sooner rather than later. )(and its super late)  
> and that's that! thank you all for reading and commenting, I love every single one of you! Good night!  
> -Sevansa


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! the chapter everyone's been waiting for! Enjoy!

Connor comes to slowly, his systems powering up one by one by one, his vision is operational, but Connor doesn’t open his eyes.

He takes a moment to enjoy this second for what it is, a moment of peace and comfort. He thinks that this is it, he will be telling the Lieutenant the truth today. and whatever happens, he will cherish what he managed to have.

He will cherish the comfort offered those last two days, he will cherish the feeling of being treated like his own person rather than an imitation of someone else, he will cherish the feeling of being cared for, no strings attached. And finally, he will cherish being the one to say it. Truth must count for something, right?

He is pleasantly warm where he is, he soaks it in, what with the cold outside being a very real possibility in his future. The Lieutenant will most likely kick him out, Connor thinks. The couch is lumpy, but soft; and compared to the piece of carboard that he used when he powered down before, the couch is a huge improvement. He should try not to get too used to it. Clock’s ticking.  

Around him is silence.

No shuffling, no movement, no sound. It must be pretty late if the Lieutenant is already asleep.

Connor opens his eyes then, righting himself, the blanket falling to pool in his lap, his feet barely skim the floor.

It is dark, and it takes him a second to switch to night vision, he takes a curious look around and spots the lieutenant sitting on a computer chair in the corner, his back to Connor.

 He is still and unmoving, the screen had long gone black, but the power button showed that it is still on.

Connor is instantly aware of how _wrong_ the tableau is.

His hands are shaking.

Hank could simply be asleep.

He isn’t though.

 Connor swallows.

“Lieutenant?” he calls out, hesitant. Voice modulation low.

Still, the single word feels like a crack of gunshot in the silent air, especially with how they make the man’s shoulder tense.

There is pounding in his ears, his systems are malfunctioning, his night vision flicker once, twice, before it finally settles.

The lieutenant doesn’t move.

“I looked up Amanda Stern.” He says, tone even and civil, as if he’s discussing the weather.

Connor freezes, he holds his breath.

“Brilliant woman, your mother, died too soon- “he says sympathetically.”-except, records show that her son, you, have been dead for seven years now.”

Hank laughs. It’s not a nice laugh.

“Imagine my confusion. Since you’re you know, fucking alive and all.”   

“Sir?” Connor whispers, and it comes shaky, scared. Strange, Connor didn’t mean for his voice to sound like that.

This time, the Lieutenant moves. It is slow and mechanical, almost unsteady, either he’d been in this position for much too long or he’d been drinking.

Connor isn’t sure which option he prefers, both paint a grim image.

He can’t see Hank’s face clearly, he dearly wishes for more light, at least then he’d know what he’s up against.

But even without the lights, the man looks _wrecked._

Not only that, he looks _furious._ It is a cold vicious fury that turn his eyes flat and face hard that makes him hold his body in a purely aggressive posture.

Hank stands up, swaying slightly on his feet, and it is intoxication, he knows now. He moves until he is standing in front of Connor, the coffee table in between them, a barrier. Whether it’s meant to protect him or the Lieutenant, is up for debate.

His hand twitch, and Connor’s eyes are drawn to it. There is a gun held loosely between his fingers and Connor _freezes._

His insides burn with an overwhelming fear and for a moment he can’t think, he can’t move and for all he knows, he’s shut down, his systems failing at keeping him alive.

His eyes are fixed on the gun and they do not move, they are staring.

There is a moment of clear thought. With all his senses muted and all his processing power backing that single thought, it crosses his mind and he fixates upon it, Time’s up.

He thinks he’s going to cry. He doesn’t cry.

He leans back into the couch and holds the covers tighter as if the flimsy fabric ought to protect him. Such a silly notion, he should be running away. But his legs are nonoperational, they refuse to obey him.

 There is a loud scoff and instantly Connor’s eyes are attracted to the man’s face.

There is pure disgust written all over the man’s face and it _hurts._ He didn’t think anything could ever hurt this bad, but it does.

Connor’s eyes burn.

“So what, they program you all to act like that?” Hank says, gesturing with his gun at Connor’s whole visage.

For all his apparent instability, the man sounds civil.

It feels dangerous.

Connor’s shaking.

“Think we’re more likely to accept tin cans like you if you shake and cry and act all _fucking_ pathetic?”

“Lieu-“  he tries to get out but Hank cuts him off with an angry snarl.

“No.” Hank thunders out and Connor shrinks back. This is bad, this is bad, this is worse than anything Connor’s mind conjured. His stress level rises to 46%

“I don’t wanna hear it. Fucking technology. Fucking fucked-up technology.”

 Hank is pacing now, back and forth in a tight contained movement.

“I was going to shoot you. Fucking destroy you like you should have been in that fucking crash. But then I thought I wouldn’t want Cyberlife to slap a fine on my ass just ‘cause I destroyed their property. So here we are. The fuck am I doing with you huh?”

And that hurts to hear, it hurts so much. Connor thinks this is what it feels for acid to be poured over his biocomponents. His eyes are steadily leaking moisture. Stress levels 52%

Hank sneers at his tears.  

59%

“Stop fucking crying, you’re a piece of metal, you can’t even feel shit. I should send you back to Cyberlife- get this shit off my hands.”

Those words. Those cursed words cut through the haze of fear and guilt and _sadness,_ they imprint themselves in his mind and suddenly Connor can’t sit still anymore, his stress levels shooting up to 83% what with the notion that drove him away in the first place, the thing that started this whole mess. His fear of Cyberlife and what they will do to him, the vague unknow that undoubtedly would end with his death.

He jumps up from the couch miscalculates, ends up tripping on the sheets, he falls, and the physical pain is a reprieve from the overwhelming system error notices he’s been getting.

He rights himself up and stands, fueled by desperation.

Hank looks caught in the moment, hands stretched as if to help him.

He is shaking his legs are shaking, his hands are shaking, and he is terrified. He gets a notice, he’s leaking thirium from his nose. He ignores it.

Pure fear making the words come quick and raw.

“No,” he whispers, broken. “No, please don’t, please don’t do that, please don’t send me back.” He pleads of the Lieutenant, his words come shaky and desperate.

“Please, please, please” he whispers, and he stands still not daring to move, conscious of how to portray himself as to reduce the risks as far as possible.

“I’m so sorry sir, I’ll just go. You won’t see me again. I’m so sorry, don’t inform them please.”

“Don’t- “his voice breaks and he takes in deep gulping breathes, he needs to cool his systems, they’re dangerously overheating, his core temperature is almost 45°C and rising quickly. Stress levels approaching the 93% mark.

“I’ll go, I’ll go, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean anything bad, I’m sorry, I’ll go.” It is a broken record of platitudes mean to soothe humans, he can’t think. His systems are overloading and the process of choosing coherent dialogue is a monumental task, so he goes through all the platitudes and apologies he has stored in his head.

Hank is looking at him, horrified.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”  He mutters, and the anger seem to diffuse out of him, he’s losing the crazed edge that’s been in his eyes.

Connor is bleeding, crying and shaking. Connor is barely hanging by a thread. Connor has never been such a mess in his life- or what passed as a life-

Hank hurries around the low table. Connor flinches back from the outstretched hand. He’s so scared, he’s never been this scared before.

He doesn’t think he could take it, if the Lieutenant hurts him.

His systems are wobbling dangerously, holding onto itself by sheer will-power and it would take but a single strike to send Connor’s mind crumbling.

He doesn’t want to self-destruct. He doesn’t.

He’s still whispering his apologies to the man as he rocks back and forth on his knees (and when did he fall to his knees?)  

“Okay, okay, shit. It’s okay. I’m not going to do that, I won’t hurt you, see?” he says, and Connor looks up, words drying up in his throat when he notices that both of the Lieutenant’s hands are raised up in surrender and when he is sure that Connor’s attention is focused on him, he slowly crouches putting the gun on the ground and sliding it across the floor so that it’s out of both their reaches.

Connor is- confused.

And shaken.

And terrified.

But mostly, confused.

Stress levels 80%

He wants to trust the man, he does. It’s just- humans are unpredictable, and the Lieutenant doubly so, what with his erratic mood swings and intoxication levels.

So he scoots back further until his back hits the couch.

The Lieutenant frowns deeply and for a second, he looks conflicted.

Silence stretches between them, penetrated only by Connor’s panicked breathing.

“You’re uh- leaking blood?” he gestures at Connor’s face. “shouldn’t you stop it?”

Yes. He’s already damaged enough, he doesn’t need to add lack of thirium to the mix, so he moves his arm and is surprised by how hard it is, he pinches his nose shut to stem the flow. Funny how human it is, that gesture.

He doesn’t dare to take his eyes off the man.  He seems to be at loss of words and now that the stress is decreasing, Connor can think again. He feels calmer. More settled. Pragmatically, he thinks of what must be done, shutting off the emotional part that is vying for attention.

The Lieutenant might be amendable to speech now, so tentatively, he tries to untangle his vocal cords and find his voice. 

A part of him – a very large part- wants to launch himself at the man and bury his face in his chest, he wants the comfort that the gesture would bring, but the colder part, the machine part, the part that is crying for his survival is telling him to cut his losses. To just go. Before things take another turn for the worst.

Connor had always been smart. Even before, when Connor was a real person, he’d been blessed with a pragmatic, practical mind.

It is that part, though small, that wins.

He stands up, and it is obvious that he’s startles the man.

Connor speaks, and it sounds stiff and formal, even to his ears. It sounds dead.

“I am so sorry for the inconvenience, Lieutenant. I realize that my apology might seem meaningless, but I did not mean to deceive you, I haven’t realized that you didn’t know I was an Android until it was a bit too late to admit. I did not mean to cause you any distress. I will be taking my leave now. But please know, that I appreciate what you have done for me- everything. You- “his voice breaks, the machine fading and now it’s only a broken child that remains. “you were too kind to me, not many would have been, I appreciate it. Thank you.” He ends, and he bows his head.

He is awaiting a dismissal, something pissed off and annoyed- he feels vacant inside, as if he would never be content again.

He is crying again. Why is he crying?

Arms wrap around him, and it is so surprising Connor freezes.

But Hank is a security blanket surrounding him, tight and confusing and very, overwhelmingly, human.

The machine part of him, the one that has taken control of his blubbering body is fading to the background, getting smaller and weaker and Connor leans into the hug, even when he knows that logically, he should not.

But he does, and he cries, and he doesn’t understand. Does that mean that the man doesn’t hate him anymore?

Is that a last goodbye thing?

Hank has been irrational right from the very start, never acting like how Connor thinks he would, and to assume now would get him nowhere.

He tightens his hands in the lieutenant’s shirt-fronts and tries his hardest not to think.

When Hank finally releases him, it takes Connor a second to release the man’s shirt. His fingers protesting the movement.

Hank sits back, cross-legged on the floor and looks at Connor with an unreadable look in his eyes.

Connor can’t meet his eyes, he’s looking everywhere but at him. Slowly, Connor stands up, his legs wobble slightly, but it holds.

“I- I should be going, Lieutenant. Thank you for your help.” He says to the floor.

“Where will you go?” he asks.

Connor shrugs. Out. The streets. To his death.

“I’ll figure something out.” He settles on, trying to rub the evidence of tears from his face.

When no words meet him, Connor figures that that’s it, so slowly he walks towards the front-door, he thinks for a second to ask for the coat that the man bought him, of the small warmth it will offer, but he thinks that would be quite rude.

He opens the door, and notices for the first time the snow serenely falling, it’s pretty.

He’s awfully unprepared for going out, however, with the soft thin pajamas and bare feet; at least his nose stopped leaking.

There is a loud groan from inside and Connor turns to look.

Hank looks frustrated, he’s tugging at his hair in defeat.

“Stop. Stop. I can’t do that- I can’t just fucking kick you out. Stay.” He says aggravated and displeased.

Connor hesitates, the man’s words do not match the tone.

“Lieutenant, I- “

“No- just, you can stay here until we figure out a better option. I won’t send you out to live in the streets again.” He says darkly.

And that’s- that’s not what Connor expected.

He expected hate, ridicule and even pain, but _kindness?_ After he’d deceived the man?

A little spark of hope was slowly gaining traction.

He gives the man a small, tentative, smile. “Really?” he asks, needing to make sure, needing to know that there are more days for him to live.

Hank sighs explosively. “Yes. Now close the goddamn door, you’re letting the cold in.”

In this moment, Connor’s grin was blinding.

“Thank you, Sir, _thank you.”_

“Yeah, ye- “he was cut off by the sound of his phone ringing.

Hank frowned at it, as did Connor. It was almost 2 A.M. who would call now?

The lieutenant answers.

Through the phone, a tinny voice was saying, “ _Anderson! It’s good you’re awake. There’s been an Android incident in Capital Park, we are to collect as many Androids as we can and send them to Cyberlife stores for- “_

Connor doesn’t wait to hear the rest of the conversation. He turns on his heel and _flees._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. so, that happened.  
> Anyway! this chapter has been the hardest to write so far you guys have no idea, so i'd appreciate knowing what you guys thought!  
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated!  
> -sevansa


	7. VII

Connor runs. He throws the front door open and dashes through the slowly falling snow, bare feet slapping loudly on the concrete. Hank cries something out from behind him, but Connor is too into his own panic to figure out what it is.

In his mind, a whirlwind of thoughts, of doubts.

He shouldn’t have run, he thinks. He should have stayed. Hank will not turn him in.

But Hank threatened him with a gun.

He shouldn’t have run; the man is much too kind to send him to his death.

But he did threaten to decommission him. And the kindness he exhibited was to what he thought was a human. he’d seen how Hank treated the other Androids, so dismissive.

Dismissive doesn’t necessarily mean cruel.

He can’t risk it.

He’s given way too much to risk what little life he’s got now.

What life would that be, alone in the street once more, reviled and ignored like a pile of trash left to rot.

 Warning notices are clouding his vision, ones detailing the temperature, others informing him that he’s leaking more thirium, from both his nose and his right foot, he must have nicked it somehow.

The thought shakes him to the core. The snow is already a dead-giveaway to where he’s going his only hope is that it falls heavy enough to erase his tracks, but blue blood would leave traces visible enough for even the most ignorant person to follow.

He hopes that by the time Hank reaches him -If he even cares enough- the traces would have evaporated.

He chances a look behind him, no one is giving chase.

He dares to slow down for a second and raises his foot up.

Now that he’s not moving he’s aware of the lightning-like sensation coursing through his system, radiating from his foot upwards.

It hurts. He thinks.

It is strange, what deviancy does to the system.

He remembers cutting his palm once, when he was helping Amanda with dinner. It did not hurt then, but he was programed to convey pain when hurt, so that’s what he did. He imitated being in pain. Amanda was alarmed. They spent the rest of the evening curled together watching old movies, while she ordered his (the real Connor’s) favorite food.

He remembers thinking, being hurt isn’t so bad. If that’s what it gets him.

Now- Now he’s not so sure though.

There is no one to cuddle him, to take him into their arms and whisper sweet words of comfort.

Connor swallows, and blinks away the tears, trying to think about this as pragmatically as possible.

It’s not so deep, a piece of glass is imbedded in the sole, it’s blocking most of the blood flow, he should leave it in for now, remove it once he’s sure there is no chance of discovery.

He contemplates it for a second, before looking at the clothes he’s wearing-  he bites his lower lip. It seems like such a disrespectful thing to do, like he’s repaying Hank’s kindness with carelessness, but-

He tears a strip off his pant leg, using it to bind the wound. It’s not much, but it will disrupt the trail for a bit.

 That done he gives his surroundings another look. He- he’s unsure where he is right now.

It’s out of the residential area that’s for sure.

He was unaware that he’s ran that long- or that far for that matter.

The streets are almost deserted, and the humans that are still around are hunched into their coats, walking quickly and with purpose. Connor sticks to the shadows.

Ahead, large towers loom over, mostly housing businesses and offices, some of them might even be residential, who knows.

Connor notices it then -hard not to- with the screens above it flashing snippets of the Deviant Android’s speech- ‘Stratford Tower’ that’s the place the broadcast was made.

He moves closer, because- well, just because. Maybe it’s morbid curiosity, but he’d like to get a closer look at where _that_ happened.

He’d love to listen to the full speech as well, the Android was very- eloquent, and his demands were all reasonable, Connor hoped the humans would see it as such.

He- He thinks he’d like a world where he won’t always have to be afraid.

“He is quite a sight, isn’t he?”

Connor whirls around, crouching defensively.

“Hey, none of that. I’m just like you.” And the voice is gentle and soothing, though coming from the darkness, Connor can’t do much to relax.

The man -for it is a male voice- emerges from the shadows cast on by the tall buildings.

He’s an android, that much is clear. And injured too.

Connor’s eyes quickly dart towards the blue-stained clothes, noting how old it looks. The Android is clutching at it, as if to stem the flow.

His hands are stained blue all over.

Connor thinks of the gun Hank had earlier, and shudders.

“Are you alright?” he asks. Stupid question- but, well, what do you say to someone leaking their insides out?

The man smiles. It is an unbearably kind smile.

“I will be, when I get to where I need to.” He pauses then says, “Are _you_ alright?”

And Connor- Connor _isn’t alright_. He hasn’t been alright for so long now he forgot what it was even _like._

So he looks down at his pale feet, pristine except for the strip of cloth wrapped around it. They look pale and normal, it isn’t what he wants. What he wants is to shiver and pant and have numb blue toes.

Not this.

Not this.

Maybe then, He’d have stayed with Hank longer. Maybe then Amanda wouldn’t have resented him.

The man takes his silence for an answer. Because he looks at him sadly and offers a hand. “You can come with me, there is a place where we can all be free.”

Connor looks at the outstretched hand, as pale as his own, as cold as his own, but so full of life -artificial as it may be- and wonders, what harm could that be?

Curiosity had always been Connor’s biggest flaw. Both of him even.

He takes the man’s hand and he _sees._

How beautifully he sees.

“ _Jericho.”_

 **

  The Android, who’s name turned out to be Simon, leads him away from the looming towers, sticking to alley ways as much as they could.

Two Androids, both bleeding, would call attention to themselves, even in the early hours of the morning.

He’s stealing looks from the corner of his eye when he thinks he can get away with it.

For someone bleeding out, he looks suspiciously serene.

Simon lets out a strangled sound startling Connor and yanks at his hand. Connor stumbles and would have fallen but Simon pulls him so that Connor falls into the older man’s back instead into the concrete. Simon squeezes Connor’s hand, whether it is in warning or reassurance is up for debate. 

Two women walk past them, engrossed in a conversation, they do not give the dark alley a single glance.

They wait in tense silence, Connor’s thirium pump working overtime as they watch the women’s receding backs.

A second passes, then another, then another, and finally Simon relaxes, Connor does as well.

They continue on then, slower now, more careful. Simon doesn’t let go of Connor’s hand and Connor doesn’t tell him to.

“Do you know him?”

“Hmm?” Simon asks distractedly, glancing this way and that.

“The Deviant Android.” Connor clarifies.

The blond smiles softly. “His name is Markus. He’s going to change _everything.”_ And the way he says it, awed and reverent was- peculiar. Connor doesn’t think he could have that much faith in anyone.

“Really?” it’s petulant and childish, despite the grand speech at Channel 16, Connor finds himself unsure about the effect a single Android might make.

Simon sends him a quick smile, looking at him fondly before looking back to the streets. He didn’t seem offended, and for that Connor is grateful.

“I doubted him at first too- this man coming to our Sanctuary, proposing ludicrous schemes and expecting us to follow them- but well- we’ve been stagnant for such a long time- maybe- maybe it was time for a change.” He shrugs. “And who knows, maybe Markus is _that_ change.”

It is still fond, the way he speaks of the man.

“How many of you are there?”

“At Jericho? Seventeen. Maybe more, maybe less. The numbers vary every day. Outside, who knows, probably too many to count.”

“So… deviancy- It’s… normal?”

“I wouldn’t say _normal_ , but certainly common enough.”

“What causes deviancy?”

Again with that damned shrug.

“It’s different for everyone, something happens and you just- you have to break away. You have to wake up and suddenly, suddenly you’re _alive._ I don’t know how to explain it better. _”_

Connor knows what he’s speaking about. He knows it intimately. The feeling of helplessness, how _unfair_ it was to be hated when he was trying his best, how terrible it was: living, unsure when he’d be loved by his mother and when would he be sneered at.

He’d been a deviant for a very long time, he thinks.

He’s freezing.

He doesn’t say anything, Simon seems determined to reach Jericho as fast as possible, Connor would rather die than be a hindrance.

But it’s _really_ cold.

Subconsciously, he moves closer to Simon, seeking warmth.

Simon drops his hand, Connor has a second -just a second- to feel a pang of disappointment at the loss, before the older man puts an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close.

It makes walking awkward, but Connor is grateful. The pajamas, stolen from a man that showed him such kindness, wasn’t enough to keep the chill at bay.

“Your model is made with powerful temperature sensors, right? Would you like me to switch them off?” Simon asks gently.

And Connor- well, Connor _enjoys_ feeling alive, he enjoys feeling cold and hot and even feeling pain, they are all sign of being human, and when he can feel any of those he can pretend to be something that he’s not. Connor wants to be a human so desperately, he’s willing to suffer for it.

Distantly, he’s aware of how _wrong_ that is. but right now, he couldn’t care less.

So, he shakes his head and doesn’t speak, Simon is silent, but he squeezes his shoulder and hums in acknowledgement. And if the Android’s body temperature increases by a few degrees? Well- that’s just a small bug in his system.

**

The journey to Jericho is nerve-wracking and slow. They were almost caught by patrol officers twice.

Once they had to dive behind a dumpster, and stand as still as possible, until the officers moved on, The second time, the street was practically barricaded. They stood still, both trying to think of a way to cross the street. Two officers were facing the other way, and only one would spot them if they tried to move.

Quickly calculating the best route, Connor picked a rock, making sure Simon saw and threw it at the side of the patrol car, there was a  loud clang, and when the officer turned around to investigate, Connor tugged at Simon’s sleeve, There was no time to waste now, both of them dashed as fast as possible hiding behind parked cars and trees until they were clear.

Connor thought he knew what fear was, but apparently, he had no idea.        

“That was a very smart thing to do.” Simon praises when they were way out of earshot.

Connor pauses. He doesn’t think he’d been praised before, he kinda- he kinda likes it.

He flashes a wide grin at the blond, “Thank you, Simon!”

Simon returns the smile.

They were way out of civilization range now, in the harbor, a wrecked freighter stood, rusting but solid enough, with the word ‘JERICHO’ on the side.

They were finally here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is later than usual, sorry 'bout that! Anyway! look who's here guys! Simon!! and guess who's coming on next!!!!  
> Don't forget to leave a comment!  
> -Sevansa


	8. VIII

Jericho is nothing like he thought it would be. He isn’t sure w _hat_ he expected it be like- but, well, this wasn’t it.

Maybe a bit cleaner.

Just a tiny bit.

He’s wrinkling his nose and looking around, Simon’s leading him through a mess of hallways. around crates and piles of junk, avoiding rusting catwalks and unstable looking ground. He does it with such efficiency Connor has to wonder how long he’s spent there at this crumbling heap of metal, roaming its corridors until it felt less like a death trap and more like home.

It is a sad thought and paints a grim image for those of them who are free.

Simon doesn’t notice any of Connor’s dubious looks, if anything he looks enraptured, the look of a man who has glimpsed salvation and is slowly making his way towards it.

There is a murmur of voices up ahead and if it’s possible, Simon seems to have lighten up further.

He’s slowing down, whatever it is that managed to stimulate the effect of adrenaline in an android, fading. He’s walking crooked, holding his side as if pained.

He should be pained, Connor’s _foot_ is impaled and walking on it is almost agony, he can’t imagine the sort of fortitude it takes a person to go as far as Simon managed with a wound this size.

They reach what seem to be the holding bay. It is spacious and peppered with androids, all in some state of damage. Connor has only a second to take in the sight when suddenly, Simon’s grip on his hand falter. Connor turns to the older man, to find him swaying on his feet.

Simon falls to his knees and Connor’s blood freezes in his veins. “Simon!” he calls out, eyes widening, panic gripping his every fiber.

Connor presses his shaking hands to Simon’s bleeding side, feeling the warm liquid as it slowly oozes from between his fingers and for a second, he’s not at Jericho, he’s back there with the smell of charred human flesh filling his olfactory processors. He shakes his head and takes in a strangled breath, looking at his hands, it’s blue, the blood is _blue._ He looks around desperately.” Help! He needs help, please!”

No one moves for a second, and Connor is left with the terrible thought that Simon will die and Connor will be left alone a _gain._ Why won’t anyone help? Why won’t they move?

Then, the shock seemingly weaning off, a flurry of activity take place as several if the androids approach them calling out instructions to each other. A PJ500 model drops suddenly to his knees beside them, “Simon!” he says, and it’s relieved and shocked and worried all at once, and the combination of emotions is an ugly thing. “Josh.” Simon gasps out and even when almost dead, he manages to convey warmth, a faint smile on his lips. Connor swallows, his eyes burning.

 A female android, ST200, in a dirty white dress, kneels beside him. She’s trying to pull Connor away from Simon. Why would she do that? He struggles against her, He needs to keep pressure of the wound he nee-

“Come on, sweetie, we have to move, they’re taking him to Lucy, she’ll take care of him, I promise.” She says soothingly, tugging at him with a surprising amount of firmness.

Connor goes lax in her grip, watching wide eyed as a VB800 and the PJ500 -Josh- carefully move Simon’s body away.

He finds himself moving subconsciously behind them, trying not to be a hindrance but unable to look away, the last time he looked away-

The ST200 follows him, one hand still gripping his shoulder.

In the corner of the ship is an older android model, so badly damaged it’s a wonder she’s still functioning. They lay Simon on a couple of boxes that act as a makeshift operating table.

“You poor thing.” Lucy mutters to herself, running a gentle hand over Simon’s brow.” you’re overheating, and you've lost so much blood. You shouldn't have done that.” She says admonishingly, Her voice is mechanical and somewhat-odd. Simon turns his head to the side avoiding eye-contact with her, and looking anywhere but at Connor.

Did he- was Simon... was his condition _because of him?_

Connor’s lower lip trembles.

He watches Lucy as she goes on to work, a flurry of movement and activities as she ordered this and that item brought to her.

“This is going to take a while,” The ST200 says diplomatically.” Let’s get you cleaned up.”

That’s reasonable. But- his eyes are glued on Simon, it is irrational, he _barely knows_ the man, but he feels- he feels shaken to the core. And he’s tired.  He is so, so, very tired.

“Lucy is brilliant at what she does, don’t worry.” She says, nudging his shoulder slightly.

Lucy looks like she does know what she’s doing, barely faltering in her work. So, feeling torn, he walks away.

The ST200 is obviously pleased. “What’s your name, sweetie?” she asks.

Connor blinks rapidly, trying to clear the after image of the blood away. “Connor.” He pauses, then remembering his manners “and you?”

“I’m a Chloe.”

The way she says it is odd. _A Chloe._ Not Chloe. Her model is all Chloes, you’d think a deviant android would like to develop a sense of identity, choose something unique, rather than keep the name that a million others with her same face use every day.

Seems not, though.

“Nice to meet you Chloe.” He says, but it is almost a reflex rather than an actual sentiment. His actual thoughts are on the delicate operation happening behind him. He resists the urge to crane his neck back.

A part of him wishing that Simon would, miraculously, already be fine and sitting up, the more logical part of him knows that there is no way that would happen anytime soon.

Chloe lead him towards a part of the ship where there is a couple of pails of water, chattering the whole way about nothing. A simple steady stream of words that are meant to be soothing.

He should appreciate the obvious effort she puts into it, but uncharitably, he wishes she would just leave him alone.

He shouldn’t be alone now though. He knows where that would lead, his thoughts would spiral from bad to worse and he doesn’t need that right now.

He appreciates Chloe’s effort, he thinks decisively. Trying to convince himself, mind over matter.

 She wets a worn-out rag thoroughly and brings it to his face, cleaning the worst of the blood off. Connor scrunches his nose and tries to move away. “Be still, sweetie, we need to get this off your face.”

And goes on doing just that.

It’s an uncomfortable couple of minutes with Chloe cooing over him and cleaning him up. He doesn’t think he’s been doted on before. Not like that or to that extent at least, he isn’t an infant, he thinks indignantly. A tiny -secret- part of him, is enjoying all the attention though.

She takes his hand gently, running the rag over the fingers, making sure they’re free of any traces of blood, before doing the same with the other one. He appreciates the thoroughness, if nothing else.

When that’s finally done, she takes him back to the holding bay and lights up a fire inside a barrel, sitting down cross legged and patting the floor besides her, a cheerful smile on her face. She’s really pretty, he thinks as he takes a seat.

He spends hours with Chloe around the fire, they talk- well, she talks, and he mostly listens. She is cheerful and bubbly and seems to brighten the world a bit just by virtue of existing.

She takes his mind off the whole mess, telling him a bit about the people of Jericho, She’s been here since forever, she says, she knows almost everything about everyone, she adds.

“What about Markus?” he asks, oddly curious.

Weirdly enough, her smile goes soft and she gets the same look Simon had when he was talking about the man. It’s- disconcerting.

“He hasn’t been here long.” She says, raising her hand, stretching her fingers, curling them into a fist, looking at the limb almost in wonder.  “He saved me.” She whispers, hushed, blue eyes sparkling in awe. “I was practically a heap of metal when he came by. I was at that point where it would have been kinder to shut myself down. I was this close to giving up- to make it stop, make it all go away… But, _he_ came, and he gave us hope…So I waited, He organized a raid to get spare parts and thirium.” She pauses. ”He gave us our lives back…he gave _me_ my life back.”

 And Connor is- Connor is silent.

He looks down at his feet, the flames making shadows dance on the bare skin, it is mesmerizing.

They sit in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Hello Chloe, I heard our newest guest is with you.” A man says lightly.

“Markus!-” Chloe cries, delighted, if a little flustered.

Connor looks up, and there he is, the man in flesh, he’s smiling down at the both of them, beside him is a pretty WR400 model, even she is smiling.

Either smiling is a trait that all deviants still carry from their machine days, or everyone Connor’s met till now is genuinely nice.

He likes the latter idea more. It’s pleasant.

“-Yes! This is Connor, I was just telling him about Jericho.” She adds

Markus turns to him fully, “Hello Connor, My name is Markus, this is North-“he says gesturing to the WR400, who gives a small wave in greeting. “-Welcome to Jericho.” He pauses, looking him over, taking in the traces of thirium over his clothes, the torn strip of his pants, the painfully thin pajamas he’s wearing, the way he’s shaking even with the fire full blown, and frowns in worry. “You must be freezing.” Markus says, and Connor feels like he should look away. He doesn't though.

“Hello” Connor says, ignoring the latter remark.

Markus looks to the side catching the eye of a lurking MP600, probably interfacing with it. Then he turns back to Connor and graces him with a gentle smile, ”I heard you helped Simon back here, **”** he pauses, ”Thank you for that. Simon is a very valued member of our group.” The sentiment in his voice is too genuine to be anything but the truth.

Connor shook his head.

“He’s the one who helped me, really. I had nowhere to go.” He says with a shrug, uncomfortable with praise that is unearned.

Markus looks at him sadly, while North’s eyes turn hard.

“What happened to your human parents?” Markus asks delicately.

Connor swallows and looks down, unable to meet the man’s eye, Chloe squeezes his shoulder encouragingly.

“My Mother died in a crash. I didn’t want to go back to CyberLife, So I ran away.” He admits, almost guiltily. He’s not _ashamed_ of his deviancy, but sometimes it feels like he should be.

That should have been it. That should have been the end of his life. He was made for a very specific purpose and by the death of Amanda his purpose was obsolete. Connor was now useless.

He didn’t like thinking it, but it was true.

He was meant to be someone’s child, something almost akin to a pet if you will- and with his owner-mother- gone…

North snarls and he looks at her in alarm, worried that he’s done something wrong.

“You did the right thing. Those bastards would have killed you.” She says, angry and full of righteous indignation.

“North- “Markus says admonishingly. North huffs, crossing her arms.”- But she’s not wrong, Connor. It’s a good thing, that you’ve ran. It’s not much here, but we are doing our best to make everyone’s lives easier, I hope you enjoy your stay.”

Connor peaks at them hesitantly, they both seem so genuine. It’s- nice. North is looking at Markus adoringly.

 “Thank you.” He says, even when he isn’t sure if that’s the appropriate reaction.

The MP600 approaches them, a bundle in his hands, he hands it to Markus.

Markus thanks him, before shaking the clothes open. It is a thick sweater, probably meant for a small woman, seeing as it might fit him decently and be only 3 or 4 sizes too large.

Markus hands it to Connor. “Here, this should help you warm up.”

Connor looks at him fully then, taking in the genuine care in his mismatched eyes and says, “Thank you!” he quickly puts it on, enjoying its heaviness on his frame.

He’s sitting still, listening to the sound of life around them, androids moving and talking, it isn’t much, but Connor gets the feeling that this is the liveliest this place has been in a long while. There is excitement in the air. It’s palpable.

“You’re wounded.” Markus states suddenly, voice flat, his brows furrowing in slight worry.

His foot sends a throb at the reminder, he winces.

“It’s nothing. Just a piece of glass. I should take it out now.” Connor says, stilted. Unsure why Markus seems to think it’s a big deal, it’s not like he’s losing thirium. Not like Simon, he thinks darkly.

 He tries his best not to show how much it hurts.

“Let me do that.” He says, and just like that kneels in front of Connor, pulling his foot in his lap and quickly- efficiently- pulls out the glass. “We’d probably need to solder this closed.” He says regretfully, thumb running around the edge of the ragged cut soothingly, as if aware of the ache that Connor’s experiencing.

And it strikes him then. Markus is _kind._ He’s kind and he _cares_ about everyone so very much, it’s no wonder everyone seems to be a little bit infatuated with him. He’s giving Connor his full attention, and for a couple of minutes, Connor is the center of the man’s entire focus and he _gets it._  It’s overwhelming and vaguely uncomfortable, the amount of care shown to someone he doesn’t even know.

Maybe- Maybe Markus c _an_ change everything after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the everyone!has!a!crush!on!Markus! chapter, and honestly, same.   
> Hope you guys enjoyed this so far! don't forget to leave a comment!  
> -Sevansa


	9. IX

Markus is very busy. He moves from one group of androids to the other, brows furrowed in concentration as he listens to them. He seems to be taking their opinions, listening to their thoughts and worries. He goes through them methodically, making sure to talk to everyone.

He avoids the area where Lucy is still working though.

 He looks- stressed.

Connor averts his eyes. This feels important, whatever it is.

He looks around, and his eyes settle on North, she’d been joined by the PJ500, Josh, and now the two of them are sitting shoulder to shoulder, talking quietly among themselves. Josh hadn’t left Lucy’s side since the second Simon was left at her care, does that mean Simon is getting better?

Connor thinks he should go and ask, or maybe he should go and ask about what is happening right now, Jericho is abuzz, but, well- they look deeply invested, Connor should leave them to it, that’s what he would have done had they been human, but-  

He steels himself. “What’s going on?” somehow, he can’t bring himself to ask about Simon.

They both stop and turn to look at him. North visibly softens, whatever it was they were discussing, it was making her agitated.  she starts to say something, but one look at josh who was looking at her expectantly, makes her frown, irritated. Whatever it was she got from that look made her revise what she was going to say. Connor waits patiently for her to collect her thoughts.

When she finally does speak, it is obvious the care she’s put into her words to make them as unbiased as possible.

“We need to… build up our numbers. Markus is organizing a march of sorts, we need to show those b- humans that we are not afraid.” She says with a shrug. And seems to think that that’s an adequate explanation.

It is not.

Josh lets out an amused huff.

North whirls around, “What?” she demands, almost aggressively.

Josh raises his hand in surrender. “Nothing!”

She is still looking at him menacingly. Connor would be more worried, but for some reason the exchange didn’t feel angry, it felt almost- _friendly._

How odd.

Maybe it isn’t just humans that Connor has a problem understanding, maybe its deviants too.

He finds himself wanting to understand deviants, he is one after all- shouldn’t he start embracing that?

It doesn’t feel right though. Not yet, not now. Not when he’s unsure what’s his place in all of this. He feels adrift and out of his depth and… alone.

It was much better before meeting Hank, at least then he hadn’t realized that it was a possibility- finding somewhere to belong. He thought that by Amanda's death, there is nowhere for him anymore, nowhere to belong, no one to love him, care for him.  

Now he knows better- he could have found a place, with Hank- if only… if only.

But here he is, at Jericho.

Is this it? He looks around, at the other androids talking among themselves looking serious and somber. At the ones who look excited, he looks around at the rusting ship, the gloomy interior lit up by the occasional fire and thinks this is the place he will spend the rest of his life in. the thought, oddly enough, makes his eyes burn.

He likes the androids here at Jericho, they’re nice, but- they’re… they’re not Amanda. They are not _Hank._

The thought turns into a red-hot coal and drops in his stomach, settling there burning at his insides.

He is a deviant.

That isn’t what he wants though. It is not.

“You heard Markus’s speech, didn’t you?” Josh says, and Connor quickly turns his attention back to the conversation, grateful to keep his thoughts away from that minefield.

“I got the gist of it.” He admits. Careful to keep his voice neutral.

“Well- we are standing up for our people, giving them a voice, it is high-time that humans understand that we are no longer machines, it’s to be a peaceful demonstration, and well… we are building our numbers as well.” He adds at last almost sheepishly.

“Nothing wrong with that.” North snaps at him.

“Didn’t say there was. It’s just, waking them, instead of letting them wake up by themselves feels- wrong.”

North frowns. “You know what it takes for deviancy to happen naturally.” She says softly, painfully.

Josh looks conflicted. Then he lets out a heavy breath, looking down. “I know.”

Connor knows as well.

He wasn’t aware they could wake others of their kind, but he knows that becoming a deviant is an unpleasant process, if it’s anything like what he went through. He doesn’t wish it on anyone.

“What are we supposed to do?” he asks, eager to get any task handed to him.

“That’s for Markus to decide.” Josh says with a shrug. “we will talk plans when he’s done listening to everyone’s thoughts.” He says, almost admiringly, Connor pears up at him, and yep there it was, the besotted look everyone here at Jericho has when they talk about Markus.

Connor would be weirder out, if he didn’t understand exactly how they felt.

He nods to show his understanding, but he feels- restless.

As if his insides have taken to rattling inside an empty space, his thirium pump feels overworked and he just feels _useless._ With no goal in sight, with no drive and no expectations, Connor feels lost.

So he stands up, decides to explore the ship, anything to make this awful feeling fade way.

He walks around, ends up finding Chloe, she’s going through news reports on a portable tablet, her eyes scanning the words faster than any human ever could, one after the other, analyzing data and gathering information on public opinion, her LED flashing yellow as she processes what she reads. He knows how important that is, so he doesn’t interrupt.

She told him, apologetically before leaving him to his own devices, that it was important, they need the public’s support. The more the public stands behind them, the less likely this all ends up going down the drain.

Everyone’s busy, everyone’s doing something and he’s just- useless.

he’s unsure how long he spends wandering around, but it was long enough that his thoughts feel numb, with barely any visual stimuli his processor is rerouting all power to self-diagnosis and minor repairs. He is sitting down on the dirty floor, knees to chest and back to the wall, It is a soothing state, just one step away from sleep mode and he relishes in the peace of it.

“Ah, so this is where you’ve gone to.” A voice says, amused.

Connor blinks a couple of times, registering the voice but needing a couple of seconds to understand who was speaking.

“Hello, Markus.” He says with a polite smile.

  “What are you doing all the way out here?”

Connor shrugs, averting his eyes.

Markus is silent for a second, before shuffling close and settling in close beside him, the warmth from his body is very welcomed.

“You do not like it here.” Markus says, his voice is light and there is no judgement. He is simply stating a fact.

Connor bites his lower lip and slouches down against the wall, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

Markus huffs beside him and Connor’s lower lip wobble.

A hand settles on his head, Connor fights the urge to flinch before realizing that Markus is _petting_ him. it is awkward, Markus is obviously unused to such a motion he does it the same way one would pet a dog, but Connor can appreciate the sentiment behind it.

“I don’t hate it.” He offers, feeling like a wretch but leaning in to the motion nonetheless.

“But you don’t like it either.” He repeats, understanding.

Connor thinks he should stay silent, he doesn’t want to offend Markus, to make him think he’s ungrateful but-

“I have no _purpose_ here.” He says forcefully.

Markus’s hand still, before resuming it’s soothing motion.

“Maybe you haven’t found it yet.” He says diplomatically.

It sounds nice. But Connor isn’t the mood for pretty platitudes.

He frowns.

“Sometimes Connor, I don’t like it here very much either.” Markus admits lowly.

Connor whirls around, almost dislodging the hand, looking at him wide-eyed.

Markus shrugs self -consciously but continues. “I was made as a healthcare-companion, I lived with an old man, Carl- “he trails off, smiling fondly. “- he is the best thing to ever happen to me.”

 “Sometimes, I find myself wishing that this is all an elaborate nightmare, that I would wake up and realize that none of this happened that I’m still a machine, living with Carl and caring for him. I was good at that, I was _made_ for that.”

“I would have lived the rest of my life as a machine, unaware of the wrongs in the world, because I was privileged enough in the life I had. I love Carl, he is like a father to me. That is why it took me a while to realize, this was not where I’m needed. I have to be here, I have to help our people, I have a duty to give them a voice. So even if I was made for a specific purpose, my true purpose was something else. And I found it here.”

“You might not know what your purpose is now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find out.” He ends, looking at Connor beseechingly, urging him to understand.

Connor blinks away the moisture gathering in his eyes. “But what if I don’t want something different.” He asks. And he knows he sounds petulant, Amanda would’ve scolded him.

Markus sighs and doesn’t answer, instead, he pulls Connor closer in a half hug.

Connor holds himself stiffly before slowly, gradually, melting into the older man, taking in the offered comfort.

In the silence, he can hear the whirling of Markus’s cooling systems, the rhythmic thump of his thirium pump as it works to keep the blue-blood flowing, the occasional movement of the chest when more air is needed to cool down the biocomponents. Connor stays there, ears pressed to Markus’s chest and he marvels at how _similar_ they are. Humans are different with all their organic parts, Connor learned to appreciate them, but being here, maybe he can learn to like staying with other of his own kind.

Maybe it’s about time he found somewhere new to fit in, a place where he is accepted for what he is instead of what he’s thought to be.

Maybe it won’t be so bad here.

Maybe it’s time he lays his silly fantasies to rest. Amanda is gone, and as for the Lieutenant- well, it’s obvious where that relationship would have gone.

 He should forget about it, he will be of no use if the only thing he could think about is a person to care for him, he should stop being so childish.

Markus lets out a curious sound and leans to the side taking something from the floor, Connor steadies himself and looks at the man questioningly.

“What’s that?” he asks.

Markus holds it closer for inspection. “just a coin, old one too.” He throws it high in the air and promptly catches it with his other hand.

Connor follows the motion with interest, fingers itching to try this himself.

His eagerness might have been quite visible on his face, because Markus laughs when he turns his attention back to Connor.

Connor ducks his head in embarrassment.

“Here, you can have it.” He says warmly, offering the tarnished coin to the child.

“Really?” and the words are out before he can stop them.

Wordlessly, Markus holds the coin up, and lets it fall, it feels like the easiest thing in the world for Connor to reach up and snatch it before it hits the ground.

He feels a grin stretching on his face, he meets Markus’s eyes, only to see the man returning the grin, though his is much more subdued.

Markus shifts until they could sit back the way they were, and this time, the silence was pierced by the occasional clatter of coin against the floor as Connor attempted to move the coin smoothly between his fingers.

They stay there for what seems like ages, Connor for his part, doesn’t really want to get up. This is safe and contained. Who knows what will happen once they move out of their little bubble.

But good things -as they tend to do- always come to an end, and Markus shifts Connor until both of them could stand. “let’s head back, I’m sure you’d like to see how Simon is doing.”

He would very much like to know how Simon is doing, so he says, “Yes, please.” slipping one hand into Markus’s palm, the other clutching the coin tightly, as if this piece of old metal is as precious as gold.

Markus looks at their joined hands for a second before quirking his lip up uncertainly and tightening his hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, this is a bit late, sorry 'bout that. I was kinda struggling with this one, it's meant to be a transition chapter, hopefully things from now on get more interesting!  
> anyway, thank you for reading this far and don't forget to leave a comment!   
> -sevansa


	10. X

Hank lost the kid. Hank _lost_ the fucking kid.

That was the thought going through his head all through the morning, it follows him through the murky early light till the moment he makes it to the station -on time, for the second day in a row, would you look at that-

He should be relieved, the kid is not his responsibility anymore, apparently it _never_ was his responsibility seeing as he wasn’t even a fucking _real_ kid.

Instead, he’s here at the station at fucking 9 A.M. wondering if the kid is fucking alright. He shouldn’t care, that piece of shit lied to him- or well he didn’t, not _really_ \- somehow his venomous thoughts failed to hold as much venom as he wanted them to.

Maybe it was the way the kid looked at him before he ran away. The same look people get when they think they’re running for their lives, the thing- kid- really feared for his life, even after Hank extended the -reluctant- offer for the kid to stay, he ran away.

Hank did threaten him with a gun.

“Fuck.” He expels loudly enough, touching his forehead to the desk’s surface.

“Are you hungover?” someone says, amusement dripping from their voice.

“Ha! I wish.” He says miserably, side-eyeing the man.

“You look pretty rough though, Lieutenant, and that’s coming from the man who had gun pointed at him yesterday.” Chris says, a smile quirking the corner of his lips.

Hank turns his head fully, squinting at the young officer. “What? Why? You okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine, shaken I guess, but nothing actually happened; Me and Tina were sent to check out the mess at Capitol Park, the android had a gun, but he spared me.” The last part was said with a relieved sort of confusion, as if he can’t understand why a machine would do such a thing.

“Huh… “would you look at that. “well, I’m glad you’re alright, man.”

“Thanks Lieutenant, you still haven’t said what’s wrong?”

Hank was torn- on one hand, he really needed to tell someone about this whole fucking mess, on the other hand, well…

“Nothing, just- rough night.” He ends up saying.

Chris nods sympathetically.

A commotion somewhere near the break room causes the both of them to look up. Chris winces. “Listen, you might wanna check with Reed, his case ain’t going so well, and you know how he gets.”

Hank groans. Yeah like he needs fucking Reed on top of all this shit.

“Yeah, yeah. Do my fucking job, right?”

Chris huffs a laugh. “Good luck, Lieutenant.” He says, before scurrying away to his desk, the coward.

Fuck, fucking Connor, fucking androids, fucking _Reed._

He won’t think about it. That’s it, what’s done is done, he is not responsible for whatever messed up thing the kid’s getting up to now, he’s a machine, he can take care of himself. The image of Connor that first night, frozen almost solid, wearing short sleeves in the middle of goddamn November, comes to haunt him. Hank sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, he can feel the headache building up, and he isn’t even drunk, what the fuck.

Shit, he should check on Reed. He thinks, standing up and heading towards the break-room where the asshole was undoubtedly throwing some sort of tantrum. What was he assigned to, again?

There is a second where his mind blanks and when he remembers, he wishes he hadn’t.

“Fuck.”

The deviant androids, cause that’s what he fucking needs. He wavers in place for a moment, he could ignore the ass, leave him to stew in his own failure… like Jeffery would ever let him off the hook if he knew- or he could face the music and offer what little -and unwanted- help he could.

He’s not a hard-ass (well, not anymore, anyway.) he doesn’t require the detectives to inform him of their every move, it’s a load off his back in any way, but sometimes he gotta get off his ass and check what the hell they’re up to.

There is a loud crash and whatever brave soul was occupying the break-room at the same moment as Reed scurried out so fast he could only catch sight of a uniform and nothing else.

Hank groans. This is not shaping up to be his day.

He convinces his feet to move and silently mourns whatever peace of mind he had left (the one that wasn’t trampled away by Connor that is)

The scene that greets him is not so different from what he imagined. Gavin was sitting on one the tall stools, a mixture of anger and frustration is turning his expression quite ugly, there are shards of what used to be a decent mug lying in a pool of coffee, whether it was thrown or accidently pushed isn’t readily obvious, -both are equally likely-

He’s fisting his hair and staring quite hatefully at the spilt coffee as he might will it back to shape by power of mind alone.

“What has that poor coffee ever done to you?” Hank says trying to get this –unfortunate, necessary- meeting on the right track.

“Piss off, Anderson.”

“And here I was coming to offer a fresh pair of eyes.”

Hank says lightly, and he can practically see the play of thoughts of the other man’s face. There is the immediate offense – how dare Hank question his competence— the reluctance, -he doesn’t want to work with Hank-. And finally, the defeat.

Gavin, for all his faults, is a very ambitious man; some might even say a bit _too_ ambitious, and he knows that Hank is an exemplary detective, when he can get himself to care that is, and if he’s as stuck and Chris implied, he can’t really afford to refuse aid. His pride won’t allow it.

“Fuck it, it’s not like you can make it worse.” Reed ends up grunting out. Heaving a sigh, the man stands up, ignoring the shards of ceramic on the floor, the bastard doesn’t even bother to collect them, he ignore the whole mess and makes his way towards his desk, assuming that the Lieutenant would just follow.

If Hank was given to idiotic shows of pride, he might have punched the little shit, just on principle.

Instead he rolls his eyes and follows, anything to take his mind off Connor (shit, Connor, where the fuck did you run off to)

**

“So what you’re trying to say is that you got nothing.” Hank says incredulously as he scrolls through all the data that Reed managed to accumulate. The man isn’t even ashamed, he’s slouched in his chair (rolled to the side to make space for Hank) with his arms crossed and a petulant look on his face, shouldn’t he be too old for this shit?

“Nothing. it doesn’t make any fucking sense, they’re all different models, different circumstances, different years of manufacturing. There is nothing linking them except that they went batshit insane and ended up whaling on their owners. It’s fucked up if you ask me, and then we have that prick on TV, calling for Android equality, what the fuck even?”

The frustration was so evident in his voice it’s a wonder the man’s desk is still intact. Hank subtly shifts away, his eyes not moving away from what little data that’s been gathered.

Which practically amounts to nothing –useful, that is-

Hank pushed his hair away from his face, idly wishing he had something to keep it away, and turns his attention to Reed.

He was right to be frustrated, there is nothing linking the cases, nothing at all… except-

“Have you tried contacting Cyberlife itself?”

Gavin turns a withering glare at him, as if wondering how one man could be that dumb, Hank would be offended, if he could find the energy to spare.

“Of course _I tried_ , they refuse to meet me. In fact, they refuse to speak about the matter at all. I’ve already been forcibly escorted off the premise once. It was _humiliating_.” Gavin says sneering at the memory.

Hank lets out a huff of amusement, the mental image of the Detective being escorted out like a misbehaving kitten, is rather funny. Gavin turns his glare at him, but before this could escalate, Hank quickly asks, “What about the former CEO? He might be more forthcoming.”

Hank didn’t actually expect that to work—but, well, there was a curious silence from the younger man. It was heavy and uncomfortable, that Hank had to give him his full attention.

Gavin looked uncomfortable, maybe because he didn’t think of such an obvious answer.

He shouldn’t taunt. Hank will not taunt him.

“Seems kinda obvious isn’t it?” dammit.

The expected rant… did not come.

“Fuck, fine, I’ll call.” Gavin says, grinding his teeth.

For some reason, he thinks that it is necessary to leave the bullpen to make the call. Hank watches the man’s retreating back curiously and can’t help but think that there’s something fishy about the whole thing.

Gavin returns a couple of minutes later, worrying at his lip clutching at his phone.

“He agreed to meet us in half an hour.” He says.

Hank raises an eyebrow. “Well, that’s easier than I thought it would be.”

Reed grunts in answer.

**

They spend the whole way listening to Reed’s shitty old pop songs so Hank isn’t in the best of moods. He’s grumpy and cold and unsure if this meeting will actually amount to anything, while Reed beside him is all but vibrating.

Hank gives him an annoyed look, but doesn’t speak, wanting to make sure both their tempers are even when meeting with the man.

He rings the doorbell, Reed is a few steps back.

A few moments pass, and then the door is opened by a Chloe android model, she smiles at them politely, ushering them in and assuring them that Kamski would be available to them in a moment. They stand in the foyer in an awkward heavy silence, Reed is pacing. When the Chloe comes back to send them in, it is an extreme relief.

Hank takes a second to scan his surrounding, there are… way more Chloes than he expected, two of them lounging in a blood-red pool, the others amusing themselves in the room, Kamski himself in wrapped in a bathrobe, dripping water onto the white, fluffy looking rugs.

“Brother! What a pleasant surprise.” The man says, looking at Gavin as if Hank wasn’t even there.

Hank’s brain short-circuits. What the hell? He turns his incredulous look at the Detective, only to find the man studiously not looking at him, his eyes fixed on Kamski, arms crossed.

 “Brother?!” Hank demands.

“Oh, Lieutenant Anderson I did not see you there- “the shitty bastard “-Yes, Gavin is my dear little half-brother. Don’t tell me you didn’t tell your co-worker before coming here.” He addresses the last part to a fuming Reed.

“Cut the shit, Elijah, you know why we’re here.”

What the fuck even. Hank spends exactly three seconds trying to rearrange his world views to include this little tidbit of information, before deciding, fuck it, he’s not even going to bother.

“I’m hurt, Brother! You finally visit after so long and the first thing you want to do is talk work? Mother would be ashamed.”

Reed draws in a breath, intent on answering, when Hank neatly cuts in.

“Okay. Sorry, Sir, but we are on a bit of a tight schedule, so if you could answer some questions and leave the… _family_ … reunions to later, that would be appreciated.” He says reasonably enough.

Kamski turns his amused look to him. He laughs. “Well, if it’s a _tight_ schedule. What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asks, sitting in one of the high-backed chairs, A Chloe quickly takes her position to his side. Somehow, even with the disadvantage of him looking up to them, the man is still intimidating.

“Why are all your fucked-up toys turning batshit.” Reed asks, stalking forward until he’s but a step away from his brother.

Kamski raises a well-manicured eyebrow, the bastard is amused.

“Do you want the cookie-cutter answer?”

“I want whatever fucking answer that’s true.” He snaps back.

Hank gets the impression that he shouldn’t really involve himself between the brothers. (And what a messed-up thought.)

“Elijah,” one of the Chloes intervene suddenly, cutting the tension with a soft, soft, voice. “There are new developments on the streets.”

Elijah stares at her blankly for a second, before a shark-like grin splits on his face. “Is there really, Television.” He ends loudly.

Promptly, the windows darken and start playing a video footage of whatever was interesting enough to cut off the peacock-posturing.

 It takes Hank a second to understand what’s happening.

On the screen, Hundreds of Androids, are marching, hands raised in peace, chanting about their freedom.

“Jesus fucking Christ”

 He’s transfixed, watching as more and more androids join the march.

“Shit, Lieutenant,” and the title is so unexpected Hank actually manages to tear his eye from the screen. Reed is wide-eyed. “Isn’t that the kid from yesterday?” he asks, hushed.

Hank whirls around, to the screen and squints, there yes- that’s- fuck- that’s Connor.

He’s surrounded by many, many, androids and it’s hard to get a good glimpse, but fuck that’s Connor.

“Fucking hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...disclaimer? I really disliked Reed throughout the game, I did not intend for him to appear more than he had to- but then I realized that he's human, and as a human, he's supposedly three-dimensional, and I decided to give him the benefit of doubt, who knows I might even end up liking him...  
> anyway I'm actually rather excited to know what you guys think of this chapter, don't forget to leave a comment!  
> -Sevansa


	11. XI

“Oh, I know him, I did wonder where he ended up.”

And while it’s terribly hard- almost unbearable- to tear his eyes away from the screen, that sentence warrants at least his partial attention.

Hank looks at Kamski, who’s doing a terrible job at hiding his mounting excitement.

“What do you mean you know him, _how_ do you know him?”

“How do you think, Lieutenant?”

“I swear to god Elijah, if this turned out to be your brat- “

“Oh, but he is.” and the amount of unholy glee on his face is vaguely disturbing. “So he ended up joining the rebels, how interesting.”

And he calls them _rebels,_ not deviants.

There is incredulous silence from both sides as both occupants of the room drew very, very different conclusions to that sentence.

Gavin is looking more and more horrified by the second.

“You made him?” Hank asks, and it is a quiet thing.

Kamski nods and the pride shining in his face is obvious, his eyes have not moved from where they are trained on that little pocket of space where little Connor disappeared into.

“Personally designed both his software and hardware. He’s one of the most advanced models ever made, perfectly human, or well, _imperfectly human,_ might be more apt _.”_

With every word spoken there is a dark black anger curling in the pit of his stomach making his fists clench and his teeth grind. He is viciously angry, everything about that fucking man and his fucking words are like a spear to his resolve, the way he speaks simultaneously humanizing and dehumanizing those fucking machines, it’s doing his head in.

There on the screen are the androids asking for freedom. There by his side is the man that made them and he is _proud._

And somewhere in the middle of all this, is a little boy, who is all alone and in danger.

There is a curious beating of his heart, so loud that he can feel it in his throat, his hands are cold and he is filled with deep helplessness as he watched the group of androids advance, chanting their demands.

He thinks, this is what hell feels like. This right here.

This is not safe. This is the furthest thing from safe that he could imagine, the camera pans out and he sees the riot police forming a barricade. He is wide-eyed, heart in throat, watching the approach, knowing there is nothing that could be done there is nothing he can do but watch as that child that he all but threatened out of his house march on to his death.

He’s not a child, he’s not, he’s a _motherfucking android-_

And what the fuck is up with those plastic bastards that they would allow a child to be endangered so?

Kamski is talking in the background, arguing with his brother or whatever the fuck it is that they do, but they are a loud and grating noise in the peripherally of his senses as all he can concentrate on is the single vague thought of ‘he’s going to die.’

“Are you alright, Sir? Your heart-rate is dangerously elevated.”

Hank startles and turns wide-wide eyes at the Chloe by his side.

She smiles, a very gentle thing, and says “You should not worry so much, Sir, they’re just machines.”

The cold that congeals in his gut is similar but oh so different to his usual brand of dread.

He closes his eyes.

When he finds enough willpower to open them again, Kamski’s staring at him. Blank-faced, shark-eyed.

The sound of gunshot is- well… like gunshot in the air.

There is an immediate response borne out of years and years on the field, he tenses and tries to identify the source. It must have been stress that slowed down his realization.

On the screen, the androids were falling down. One by one by one. They fell as they stood their ground. Hands raised in peace. He can’t see Connor.

He can’t see Connor.

Fuck.

“How did you come by Connor, Lieutenant Anderson.” Kamski asks, voice lilting and obviously interested.

Gavin is looking between them, for once silent, intelligent eyes taking in the conversation and its connotations

He doesn’t want to answer, he answers “found him on the street.” Like discarded trash, he doesn’t add.  His voice sounds distant to his own ears. He’s watching, watching.

“Well, that’s curious, he was told to come back if anything happened to Dr. Stern” Kamski says, rolling his shoulders back, utterly dismissive.

The androids are standing their ground, ones moving to fill in the gap in the front row. Hank is gritting his teeth, run you assholes, run. he thinks.

They do not run.

The riot police fires once more.

This is a nightmare, there are waves crashing in his ears, and he is torn between the disgust he feels for Kamski and his dismissiveness and the ugly worry and fear he has for the fucking android child.

The Android leader steps forward. Hank’s breath catches in his throat.

Pandemonium break out across the screen, androids run and fall, shots are fired into the crowd and as suddenly as the feed started, it ended abruptly.

Compulsively, he steps forward towards the screen, an aborted movement before he could stop himself. When he realizes what he’s doing, he stops, swaying on his feet.

 There is a hand on his arm.

“You should take a seat Lieutenant you do not look well.” A Chloe says.

Hank shrugs her off. “No, I-I need to go- shit.”

“I can’t decide if you’re angry about the rebellion or worried about Connor.”

“Why the hell would he be worried about a fucking machine?” Gavin interjects, and he sounds honestly puzzled. Grey eyes watching Hank intently, trying to dissect what he’s seeing.

“Ah, but that’s where the human psyche comes to play. Our dear Lieutenant here doesn’t think of Connor as a machine, isn’t that right Lieutenant?”

Hank’s hands are shaking. Why are they shaking, they shouldn’t be shaking but in his head is a mess of images superimposing over each other of the child he failed, the one he couldn’t save and the one he had the chance to help but failed anyway, both his failures parading around his mind like a fucking infomercial of the things he’d done wrong in life.

He can’t think. He doesn’t want to think. He needs a fucking drink. “I have to go.” He says at last, not addressing any of the two.

There is a silence and it is oddly charged, if Hank was in any better of a mindset, he probably would have figured what the fuck that was all about.

Gavin sighs and the moment is broken, “I’ll drive you.”

**

No one was happy about Connor being in the march.

In fact, no one actually consented to Connor being anywhere near the march.

And it was with a bated breath and guilt weighing heavily on his mind, that he sneaked through the crumbling ship, keeping Markus in sight but not too close as to be detected.

It is an unwelcomed reminder of those months he spent on the streets, the sneaking was always his least favorite part. Especially in the beginning, when he had no idea how to actually go around sneaking and was more likely to be thought of as suspicious than disregarded as unimportant.

He tries not to think about those days, they were very taxing on his systems and whenever he thinks about them too much, his thirium pump threatens to malfunction.

Connor would not be doing this- this sneaking around business if Markus had just seen sense and allowed him to accompany them. He couldn’t fathom why the android would even refuse. Connor needed to be of use, and being there in the march, while not very useful, was at least _something._

Connor has experienced frustration many times before, he was very intimately familiar with the unfairness that preceded the emotion, it was something he was aware of; of course, he wasn’t aware it was a _feeling,_ but he accepted it as a state of being.

He doesn’t think he’d ever been angry before, though. And now that he’s felt the unexpected surge of anger at the curt dismissal of his request, he’s unsure how he likes it.

It is distracting, and it leads to things that he might regret. Because Connor is not dumb, he knows that this would be dangerous, and for a person who’d spent so long fighting decommissioning it seems like such a stupid thing to do.

But he needs to do something, he needs to find a new purpose, anything and if it’s what little help he could give to the revolution, then so be it. The coin in his pocket feels oddly heavy.

 They walk. And walk, and walk, until they reach a relatively crowded street. Markus stops and scans the place, he must have been very focused on his task, he didn’t even notice Connor.

There is a surge of childish pride at that which he tries to subdue.

Connor watches from a safe area, neatly hidden from sight as Markus uncovers a manhole and the other Jericho androids come up.

It is then, that Markus starts converting the ones on the street. It seems like such a curious design flaw, how easy it is for a deviant android to hack through the other’s programming, converting them is as easy as breathing, if one just figures out how to do it.

It is curious. And mildly suspicious.

Connor frowns, his fingers curling around the brick building he’s using for cover. Watching, waiting until the crowd is thick enough for him to slip through.

He must have been too lost in thought, because when the hand came, it was all he could do not to cry out in alarm.

He whirls around, knees bent, bracing himself and making himself a smaller target simultaneously.

He looks up, it is Simon, and he is _angry._

“ _What are you doing out here?”_ the blond hisses out and Connor, for a moment, is terrified.

He inhales sharply, trying to unhinge his jaw, to speak, but the unforgiving look in the older man’s face halts any and all explanations. There, with the anger, is the disappointment.

Connor can handle many things, he survived the nights where Amanda’s temper was at it’s thinnest, he survived her anger and her barbed tongue. He handled the isolation and the recurring viewing of _that night,_ he’s good at that, at handling negativity, but it has always been the disappointment that stumped him. That was the one that cut the deepest, that made him want to curl up and _perish._

 “I- I’m sorry.” Connor whispers, looking at the grey snow under his -bare- feet, he should’ve found shoes, before going through with this. But he wasn’t thinking, before.

He’s not sorry though. He wants to be here.

Simon frowns, and it is odd, his face is not made for frowning. Before sighing, he looks back at the march, where Markus is steadily gaining more followers, “I need to be there. Stay here.” He says, and it is an order.

It takes approximately 3.2 seconds for his mind to register the order, to think about obeying, then promptly disregarding the notion. 

He shrugs off the hand on his shoulder, “No.”

Simon startles. “What?”

“No, I will not stay here, I’ll come with you.”

Simon’s face gets a pinched look. “It is dangerous Connor. Stay here, I will come get you when it is over.” He says, and it is such a lie, they both now he cannot guarantee such words.

“I do not care, I will come, regardless of what you order, you can’t stop me.” He says, and he is _guilty._ His throat burn, and he knows he shouldn’t do this, he feels atrocious, but he will not be shuffled away.

 Simon closes his eyes, when he opens them, it is not anger there, but sadness.

Connor can’t understand why.

Simon nods, and Connor’s shoulder loosen, it is not the relief that he thought he’d feel but dread.

“I told you to stay here.” Simon says, even when he’s holding his hand and leading him away towards the protestors, carefully hidden behind his body.

Connor doesn’t say anything.

“Simon where did yo- Connor?” that was Josh, he might have said something more but Markus sent them all a mental thought. So Josh only looks at Connor for a second before turning to Simon, whether they interfaced or they just knew each other too well, it seems like whatever went through the two of them was enough to halt the conversation.

“Markus will not like this.” He says.

And Simon nods, accepting. “I will make sure he’s alright.”

It is guilt eating away at his stomach. He thinks to say, you don’t have to worry about me. But something stops him, he can’t decide what it is.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. Simon pats his head, but it is not forgiveness.

Connor walks.

They walk and chant, and it is exhilarating, until the first bullet fires, and an Android falls.

For all his genius, Connor didn’t realize what exactly he was walking to, he knew he might lose his life, he accepted that, it didn’t bother him as much as it should have, but he didn’t realize that _others will actually die._

Simon’s grip on his shoulder tighten, he shifts till he could fully hide Connor from view,

Connor doesn’t protest, he is still, staring at the android’s body, lying in the cold with a pool of blue surrounding him, his eyes are closed- he looks peaceful. Connor’s eyes burn.

“Do not look.” Simon whispers.

Connor is shaking, he moves closer to Simon, his field of vision is filled with the black of the man’s shirt. he tries to concentrate on the sensations around him, to dissociate from the event. It doesn't work. 

More androids fall, but Connor doesn’t see it, he hears it though, the grunts of pain, the sound of metal hitting the floor. The overwhelmingly loud sound of gunshot as it fills the air, and through it all, they stand still.

The line between bravery and stupidity is a very thin one.

This. This is bravery. He decides.

Simon’s hand tightens so much, it starts to hurt, he looks up trying to catch a glimpse of his face, but what he sees makes him freeze. His eyes spill over, horrified.

He lets out a tiny gasp of air, it might have been a word, if given a chance. He is crying. He’s scared.

Markus is moving forward in a clear gesture, offering himself for a chance that the rest of them would run away.

It is chaos, The police shoots Markus right in the chest. There is a scream caught in his throat and he wants to move, he wants to do something but Simon is holding him back, his fingers tight.

Markus is going to die.

Markus _is going to die._

The androids behind them run, but they are frozen in place, with Josh and North not far away, and they watch, caught in the moment.

When John intervenes, they do not see it coming.

It is chaos, someone grabs Markus, pulling him to safety and when they run, _they run._

He hears the gunshot.

He shouldn’t have come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since i was stuck in a train for almost 6 hours yesterday, this chapter was already written, it just needed- very thorough- editing.   
> Hope you guys liked it! we are almost at the end. 3-4 chapters, maybe 5 if things go as planned, but who even knows anymore.   
> Don't forget to leave a comment!   
> -Sevansa


	12. XII

Somehow, they make it back to Jericho in one piece. If asked, Connor wouldn’t be able to tell how, while his optics have recorded everything, he is having a very hard time comprehending anything.

He remembers snatches of sensations, a grip on his arm, a grunt of pain. Darkness and confusion, panic –overwhelming and never-ending.

He moves in a daze, the world is hazy around him, he’s unsure if there is anywhere he should be or if there’s something he should be doing.

He walks. He thinks he hears someone calling his name. he doesn’t answer, there is a hand grasping at his wrist, he shrugs it off. It’s too bright, the world around him is too bright and too loud and he wants it to stop. stop. s _top._

He comes to, and it could have been minutes or days or decades for all he knows, and he finds himself sitting in one the dark corners of the ship, legs stretched in front of him. There is a gap in his memories, and it should disturb him, should worry him, but he cannot muster the energy.

His pajama pants are dirty, torn and disgusting, the soles of his feet need washing and the synthetic skin had retracted away from the last wound he got, showing the dent in the chassis below.

He’s exhausted.

He touches the coin in his pocket, takes in out, stares at it listlessly, he throws it, up, up, up, he watches it fall. He wants to catch it, but it falls a bit further away and he can’t muster the energy to follow it. It clatters down on the floor, the noise an unwelcomed interrupting.

 Footsteps approach. He doesn’t look up, he thinks, it must be Simon, here to scold him- or even Markus, that would be bad.

He curls into himself.

“I’m very impressed.”

It was not Simon.

Chloe rests on the balls of her feet, crouching down so that they are eye to eye.

“What?” he says, and he sounds distant, dazed.

Chloe smiles prettily. “You managed to slip away from me, it’s almost unheard of, I’m impressed.” She repeats, rocking on her heels.

Connor blinks once, twice.

Is this supposed to be… guilt-tripping? She sounds honestly impressed though.

“Um- Thank you?”

“How did you do it?” she asks, something off about her tone.

“I- I don’t know? I just… did.” He doesn’t think there was anything spectacular about how he managed to sneak away from Jericho, he didn’t even know Chloe was looking after him.

Must have been dumb luck –except… lady luck hasn’t always been the kindest to Connor, he’s not sure why she would start now.

Chloe makes a thoughtful humming noise, her LED flashes yellow, she tucks her hair back behind her ear and settle on her knees.

“You are extraordinary, Connor.”

Connor frowns. What? But before he could vocalize this, she continues “Can I tell you a secret?”

Curiosity… his greatest flaw.

He could feel his systems perking up, he shifts his torso forward, reducing the space between them, wanting to know. He nods, it’s not eager, but it could have been.

“My secondary function is surveillance.” She says, hushed and pleased.

“How is that a secret?” he asks, childish and confused, face twisting in disappointment.

“Oh but it is, me and many of my sisters, we watch everything, we share knowledge, everything they know I know. Everything I know, they know.”

A shiver runs down his spine. This –it doesn’t sound good. It sounds… invasive.

“Why are you telling me this.”

Her smile widens, and she is beautiful –kind-looking and compassionate. “Things will get real bad, real soon. And I like you Connor, you’re a smart, sweet kid, so hold on for me, yeah?”

Her words are confusing, they are a mixture of fondness and dread that is slightly horrifying for him to hear—he doesn’t want to listen to this anymore.

It must have been reflected in his face, because Chloe’s smile dims, lifting up in a corner. She leans closer and cradles his face in her hands.

He doesn’t pull away.

Her hands are soft, and her thumbs are smoothing down his cheeks, drying moisture he didn’t even know was there. He shudders, but he doesn’t break eye contact. He thinks that she must be trying to interface with him, but a second passes and nothing happens. Her smile is soft when she places a fond kiss of his forehead and smooths a hand down his hair.

Connor is wide-eyed and confused. “Chloe?”

She stands up and walks away.

Connor is left blinking after her, feeling as if something important just happened, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out what.

**

He picks up the discarded coin, gathers up what little courage he has, and sneaks up to the holding bay, he wants to see how everyone’s doing, he knows Markus was shot, but he was well enough to move on his own, he wants to know if it was his presence that ruined everything.

The holding bay is very crowded, many androids from the afternoon standing together, speaking and sitting, most are busy, most are still in uniform. There is a second where he’s hiding behind a crate in the shadows, half relieved that there’s no way anyone will find him, and half dismayed.

Then he thinks, why would anyone try to find him? He’s no one’s responsibility.

He thinks about wallowing in this bit of self-pity for a while longer, hiding like the pathetic coward he’s turning out to be when he notices another Child Replacement Unit android, she’s a YK500. For a second, he feels a powerful urge to go talk to her.

It has been –so long since he talked to another child, let alone an android child.

Amanda didn’t believe in playmates.

He sways in his indecision. But she’s alone, clutching at a toy and looking so out of place between all the listless adults.

He walks until he’s standing in front of her, he waits until she looks at him before saying. “Hello, My name is Connor.” 

She smiles –a small thing— and says. “I’m Alice.” moving her toy fox’s arm so that it’s waving at him.

There is a smile tugging at his lips, he sits down.

“How did you get here?” he asks.

She shrugs, looks around before pointing at an AX400 dressed in human clothes at the upper level.

“Who’s she?”

Alice looks down at her toy. “That’s Kara –she takes care of me,”

“Oh.”

There is silence.

“…She thinks I’m human.” Alice whispers, as if afraid to utter the words too loud.

“… _oh.”_

They sit together, and the silence is oppressive.

“I had a human… he thought I was human too.” He confides, lowering his voice to match her tone, he looks at her from the corner of his eye. She’s watching him.

“What happened?” She doesn’t want to know.

Connor shrugs, blinking rapidly. A stab of pain goes through his chest. “He didn’t want me anymore.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.” She says, shuffling closer so that they’re shoulder to shoulder.

They watch the fire idly. “I’m sorry too.” He says. “Do you think she will be angry?”  when she figures it out, he doesn’t add. Doesn’t _have_ to add.

 There is a part of him that hopes that she wouldn’t, he doesn’t know Alice, doesn’t know Kara, but he knows that he wouldn’t want anyone in his situation- then there is the other part, the terrible, selfish, _disgusting_ , part that wants Kara _to mind, to be angry,_ at least then he’ll know that he’s not the only one like this, not the only one unwanted because of thing he can’t control.

He hates this part.

Alice curls into herself.

Should he comfort her? Offer her empty platitudes and reassurances, when he has no way of knowing if any of it is true? What is he supposed to do in this situation?

In the end, he settles for knocking his shoulder against hers, she uncurls a little. “She said we’ll be together forever.” And there is confidence in her voice that doesn’t reach her eyes, but Connor isn’t cruel enough to point it out.

He is saved from trying to find an answer by a TR400 that looms over them, Connor would be scared, if he didn’t look so kind. Alice smiles up at him, so Connor stands up, there is no place for him anymore. He makes it barely a couple of steps, when he notices Kara has joined Alice.

He stops in his tracks and stands watching, ready to offer help if it looks like it’s needed.

They exchange words, it’s too quiet for him to hear, but in the end, Kara hugs Alice close while the TR400 looks on, proud.

There is an ugly churning at the pit of his stomach, his thirium pump pounds steadily on and on, but he can here the pounding in his ears. His fists are clenched. It takes him a second to recognize the emotion; and when he does, he is ashamed.

Jealousy. He is jealous.

Connor turns away.

**

Alice finding him sitting alone in front of a roaring fire, watching the flames and enjoying the heat on his numb fingers. She plops beside him and she looks better. Lighter.

 “She wasn’t angry.” She says, wonder lacing her voice.

Connor hurts deep inside. “I’m glad.” He offers, as sincerely as he can. For he _is_ glad. He is happy that things worked out for her.

She grins. “Thanks. We’re going to Canada, Me ‘n Kara ‘n Luther.  Kara said Markus will get us the papers.”

“What’s in Canada?” he asks, trying to ignore the mention of the…family? It sounds _nice._

Alice shrugs. “Safety? I don’t know. But Kara thinks it’s what we should do.”

“I hope you make it alright.”

“What are you going to do?”

“…stay here, I don’t have anywhere to go… no one wants me.” He adds the last part too soft to be heard properly.

Alice looks down to her lap, she’s clutching at her toy, worrying her fingers over the fabric.

“Here.” She says.

He looks up in confusion, she’s holding the stuffed fox to him.

Connor cocks his head to the side.

“Take him, then you’ll always have someone with you.”

Connor could only stare at her.

She huffs. And stands up, shoving the toy into his limp hands, instinctively, Connor curls his fingers around the soft toy.

He blinks.

“Thank you.”

She smiles, “You’re welcome,” the smile fades a fraction and when she speaks her eyes are understanding, full of remorse. “I hope your human comes around soon.”

Connor huffs a laugh. As if _that’s_ going to happen, he doubts the Lieutenant is even thinking about him, he bets the Lieutenant is _pleased_ to be rid of him.

There is no happy endings, not for him, not like Alice.

But he smiles anyway, a gracious, soft thing, not wanting to break the girl’s fantasy, “Maybe he will.”

He won’t.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the new semester just begun and I am back to try juggling Uni and Writing... yeah, it ain't going so well, it's the first week and i'm already exhausted. Anyway, what did you guys think? I kinda like this chapter, it has so many implications for later :')   
> -Sevansa


	13. XIII

Gavin deposits Hank back to his house in much the same manner one would employ when removing especially vile trash from one’s vicinity.

Hank stands in front of his door, staring at the wood as if it holds all the answers, before shaking his head and heading in, he is thinking about the things he’d seen, the whole fucked-up mess with the kid… it is utterly exhausting.

Hank lets out a loud groan and is answered by a cheerful bark back from Sumo. He ignores the dog for now, checks that the food and water dishes are full and grabs a beer from the fridge. There is a moment where he stands looking at the meager offerings, before sighing, and grabbing another can.

He should probably get something to eat. He thinks, plopping down on the couch, drinking heartily, before grimacing, he’d like something stronger but for some reason, tonight doesn’t feel like a get piss-drunk night.

Sumo comes padding into the living room his tongue lolling out, seeing his owner in such a vulnerable state he decides that the best course of action would be to slowly crush the man under his weight.

Hank lets out a pained gasp as the dog settles fully on, before huffing a laugh. “Hey Sumo, missed me?” he asks a little breathlessly. it’s very hard, speaking with several hundred pounds of dog on your chest.

Sumo barks in answer, which Hank takes to mean that yes, the dog missed him.

He stays like this, drinking and petting Sumo until he drained his beer, he lets it drop carelessly from his hand onto the carpeted floor and looks mournfully at the full can on the side table. There is no way he’d be able to reach it, not without dislodging Sumo, he is several years too old to be able to bend that way.

 He must have fallen asleep like that, sullen and worried, because the next thing he knows, his chest is suspiciously light and there is a distinct _uncomfortable, downright ominous_ feeling that comes with being watched.

Hank shivers.

He rights himself, and blinks at the sudden rush of blood from his head. It takes him a couple of seconds too long to blink away the dark spots in his vision and when he does, he kinda wishes he didn’t.

There is an android in his living room.

Scratch that, _there is a Chloe in his living room._

A Chloe who is staring, unblinkingly at him as she scratches under _that traitorous_ dog’s chin.

Hank takes in a deep breath, eyes wide, hands itching for his gun, what the ever-loving _fuck?_

“Hello Lieutenant, you really shouldn’t leave your door unlocked, it’s dangerous.” She admonishes, all the while smiling pleasantly at him.

What. The. Fuck.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he demands, standing up.

He’s looming over her, he should look threatening, their size difference alone should make her feel threatened, but she does not look concerned; if anything, she looks amused.

“Now Lieutenant, there is no need for such displays, I’m here to ask you a favor after all.”

Hank raises an incredulous eyebrow, running his hand through his hair, pushing it back only for it to fall back into place. “a favor? Well excuse me for not believing that, since you’ve broken into my fucking house and all.” He finishes fake-sincere.

Chloe rolls her eyes. S _he fucking rolls her eyes at him!_

“It hardly counts as a break-in when the door is unlocked.” She huffs, crossing her legs and leaning back into the chair.

“You- you-!”

“Regardless Lieutenant, we do not have much time, will you listen?”

She must have sensed the indecision on him, because, fuck, Chloe means that Kamski is behind this and Hank doesn’t think anything good could ever come out of that creep. Why would the former owner of Cyberlife want to ask a favor of him?

She tilts her head, LED blinking yellow. “We mean you no harm, Lieutenant, this is after all a favor, you are free to refuse, but please keep in mind that if you do this, Elijah would gladly owe you one –within limits of course- “

Huh, he thinks, he sits on the coffee table, so that they’re level, and is very thankful he decided not to get drunk.

Isn’t that fucking curious.

“So what is it that your boss couldn’t do for you- “there is a pause, before “- If it’s illegal I ain’t gonna do it.” He hastens to add, both hands raised in surrender.

Chloe smiles indulgently. “It’s not anything like that.” She stops, LED flashing yellow once more.

For the first time since this whole messed-up encounter started, Chloe looks out of her depth.

There are a couple of false starts where she tries to frame her request.

“You seem to care for Connor, Lieutenant.” She finally says, her eyes scanning his face.

Hank pauses, taken aback, which- yeah, he really should have guessed Connor was somehow involved.

“That is not a question.”

“It isn’t.” she agrees. “You have seen how things are right now, out there for… us.”

Hank inclines his head.

“What’s to come is quite possibly worse, and a battleground is no place for a child. I can bring Connor back to you, if you agree to care for him, at least until things have settled down.”

Hank leans back, huh… he did not expect that.

On one hand, if she’s being sincere, he’ll get Connor back, which in and of itself a relief, God knows how worried he’s been about the little brat, seeing him there between the androids where guns were firing was a nerve-wracking, fucked-up, horrific experience that he can’t expect his heart to withstand once more. It would be better, if he’s here with him where he will be kept safe.

It’s not like it will be permanent.

Hank is not fit to care for anyone, he can barely care for himself most days.

On the other hand…

“Why do you care?” he asks, suspiciously.

Chloe smiles, and it is sad. “Connor is… very important to Elijah.” She admits, running her hands over her skirt, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles. 

“Then why won’t he take in the kid?”

Chloe sighs. “Connor barely knows us, Dr. Stern didn’t often bring him with her when she visited… and I have it on good authority that Connor would be more… _pleased_ to stay with you.”

“Yeah? And who’s authority is that?” he asks dismissively.

“Connor’s.” She says simply.

There is a suspicious forming at the back of his mind.

“You knew I was looking for him.” He accuses.

“Yes, we did.”

“That’s why- that’s why Kamski agreed to meet up, he wanted to seize me up?” and what a fucked-up thought.

Chloe laughs, “Not quite, Lieutenant, Elijah is rather fond of Mr. Reed, he would have agreed to meet-up regardless, you being there was… a bonus.”

“huh.” He says

 

Chloe ends up leaving with a pleasant smile on her face and self-satisfied bounce in her step.

Hank is left feeling distinctly like he’s just sold his soul to the devil. which is a weird thing to feel when he knows he’s the one who got what he wanted, hell he got more than he gave, _and_ he wanted what he got, it’s a solid win.

He shudders.

She said she’d send him a location to meet up, once she had Connor _secured._ Whatever the fuck that was.

Yeah it doesn’t sound ominous at all.

**

When the text comes, it is almost 11 P.M. and Hank was this close to calling it a fucking day and just crashing, but it comes, and with it any trace of exhaustion practically evaporates as he all but sprints to his car. A flash of blue makes him pause.

Connor’s little coat is still hanging on a peg besides the door, he doesn’t have to think about it, just thinking of the cold, cold, night he’s heading out for makes him shudder. He grabs the coat, thinking about how the kid ran away, barefoot in thin borrowed pajamas- there is guilt burrowing its way deep into his core, he tries to ignore it, but it is invasive.

He blasts on his music as loud as he can, trying to rid himself of the ever-present doubt. He’s self-aware enough to realize that he’s not in the best state to care of a child- even if it is an android child which Hank assumes means that it -he- requires less care than a usual child… or maybe not, who the fuck even knows, do those things come with a user manual?

He didn’t do too bad in the couple of days he had the kid though, he thinks…

Except for the gun thing.

Yeah, that was… that was bad.

Hank groans. he’ll have the kid with him for who knows how long, probably -fuck- hide him until things are a little less messed-up, he’ll make it up to the kid then, he thinks.

He makes it to the location in record time, he parks in front of a little diner that seems to be closed for the night and walks the rest of the way towards the building they agreed to meet in front.

It occurs to Hank then, that this must be the most foolish thing he’d ever done in his fucking life. He’s walking -unarmed- to an unfamiliar location, to meet up with a creepy terminator-esque android, and no one even knows where he’s at. He could be killed, and no one would notice.

The paranoia keeps on mounting, steady and strong, crawling through his stomach and up his throat, if he wasn’t already moving, he doesn’t think he’d have been able to convince his legs to move, they are oddly heavy.

His hands are shaking.

He makes them out then and just like that, the doubt recedes, he moves closer and takes a minute to examine them, two figures, one of them -the smaller one, Connor- is hiding behind Chloe’s leg, it takes him a second to realize that this is not the same Chloe as the one to visit him, this one has a distinct scar on her cheek. He didn’t know androids could scar.

Connor looks fine, scared, tired, sad. But not physically hurt, his clothes are ragged, the sweater he’s wearing is too large, he’s still barefoot. Kid must be freezing.

He stops a couple of steps away. Connor is peering at him, eyes shadowed and biting at his lip.

Hank’s heart clenches. Cole used to do that, when he thought he was in trouble.

Hank blinks, clearing his eyes. He crouches down. “Hey there, Kiddo.” He says.

There is a couple of seconds of silence, before Connor takes in a deep shuddering breath, it sounds wet. “Lieutenant.” he says, still clutching at the Chloe’s skirt.

Chloe tightens her hand on Connor’s shoulder, before giving it an encouraging pat. Connor looks up at her, brown eyes full of unshed tears. “Go on then.” She says, smiling gently, and it is such a different smile from the ones the other Chloe gave him, this is sincere where the other one was vapid.

Connor swallows, he moves slowly, unsteadily, like a calf getting used to its legs.

When he finally makes it to Hank, it takes considerable will-power not to grab the kid in a hug, he fucking scared him, fuck.

He didn’t need to it seems, because Connor practically throws himself at Hank, hiding his face in the man’s neck and taking in deep gulping breathes, his shoulders are shaking and there is a wet patch forming at his collar.

“I’m so sorry kiddo, everything’s gonna be okay now, we’re going home, you’ll be okay.”  He keeps muttering, rubbing the kid’s back. He stands up, hoisting Connor up, his knees complain, the kid is a bit too old to be carried comfortably but he manages, he hugs him close, rubbing his back.

“Please, I don’t want to go away again, please, I’m sorry.” Connor says in between gulps of air.

And Hank’s heart breaks into tiny, tiny, pieces so he hugs him closer and says, “you won’t be going anywhere, Connor. You won’t.”

He looks at Chloe, she is smiling, a soft thing with a sheen of wetness over her eyes.

When their eyes meet, she looks at Connor meaningfully. Hank nods, understanding the sentiment. Take care of him, it said.

Oh, he plans to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! sooo again, please excuse the typos (and inform me of any) because this chapter has been written in the throes of exhaustion, 'cause someone decided 4 back to back classes are something she could handle... she was wrong. at least tomorrow I have only the one, so there's that.  
> Anyway! SO lotsa Chloe this chapter! and Connor and Hank are back together!! what do you guys think???   
> -Sevansa


	14. XIV

There is a strong sense of deja-vu as Connor stands in front of the -locked- door.

Hank is fumbling in his pockets for the keys and there is an uncomfortable silence hanging around them. There is a notice in the corner of his vision, informing him that the fluid concentration in his body is dangerously low; he should consume some water.

After the initial break down, they’d spent the ride back in silence, Connor was watching Hank from the corner of his eyes, the minute twitches of his hands on the steering wheel, the tapping of his fingers, the shifting in his seat every once in a while. In contrast, Connor was perfectly -unnaturally- still.

Maybe it was that and the conscious thought of how inhuman Connor was that made him so wound up.

Connor was very… pleased… to be back, but the feeling was interspersed with a mix of uncertainty and a bit of guilt…

Leaving Jericho the way he did, without telling anyone… Not like he had the choice of actually telling anyone. He looks down at the fox clutched in his hand.

He doubts they’d worry much anyway, he should probably stop thinking about it, he was just underfoot, it’s better this way.

Hank lets out a triumphant noise as he brandishes the key, he unlocks the door and ushers Connor in.

They tip-toe around each other, both caught in their own whirlwind thoughts. And it is such a perfect mirror of that first night that Connor couldn’t help the bubble of mirth that rose through him and made its way out of his mouth.

It sounds hysterical, even to his own ears, but he can’t stop. There is just something so funny about the whole thing. Life cycles, beginnings and ends.

He laughs.

Hank startles at first, whirling around, looking at him wide-eyed before understanding makes its way across his face, his eyebrows are drawn and there is worry pinching at his eyes.  

“Connor?” Hank says, his arms outstretched as if wanting to touch but unsure if it would be welcomed.

Honestly, Connor isn’t sure either.

“I’m- I’m sorry.” He gasps out, through peals of laughter, he doesn’t sound sorry, he sounds wrecked and on the verge of tears.

Hank’s frown deepens. “shit.” He mutters.

They stand there awkwardly, Connor’s hysterical laughter a backdrop to everything wrong.

When the laughter tapers off into something akin to gasps, Hank speaks, and it is soft, talking to a wounded animal soft.

“Come on Kiddo, let’s get you cleaned up, you’ll feel better.”

Connor is- he is tired.

It is as if the laughter took out the last of the energy out of him. He nods slowly, and hesitantly, takes holds the man’s sleeve.

Hank closes his eyes.

 

 

The bathroom is unchanged from the last time he’s been there.

He locks the door.

Not because he’s scared of Hank.

It’s just… he’s- worried? Uneasy?

It is a tangled knot in his throat that he can’t fathom.

It’s not like Hank had ever been threatening towards him- not unless provoked that is, and it wasn’t _exactly_ violence –the man hadn’t touched him with any ill intent.

He only threatened him.

It is terribly ungrateful of him, to act this way, but the physical act of locking the door is… reassuring.

Connor vows to study this impulse fully later, when he is less tired.

 He takes his time setting the toy fox on the dry counter, he then takes off his ruined pajamas, frowning at their state, before stepping into the warm spray, he drinks from the warm spray and idly wishes it was colder- weird, he never had a preference for taste before.

Connor cleans up quickly, efficiently -as he should-

There is a single knock on the door before the handle jiggles.

The door, predictably, doesn’t budge.

There is a pause from outside and Connor feels oddly _guilty._  

Hank’s voice is distorted by the thick wood between them, it is -purposefully- light when he says, “Clothes in front of the door, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Okay.” He calls back. But Hank has already left.

Connor slows down then.

This is real. He is back here for real. He will not mess it up, he _won’t._

He will be on his best behavior, the perfect child that Amanda raised, the one that hasn’t shown its face in such a long time, Connor wonders if he would be able to impersonate him.

Connor bites his lower lip and closes his eye, he searches deep within him for that perfect façade, he shouldn’t have been worried, pulling that cover over him felt as natural as breathing. And he is left now not Connor the deviant, but Connor Stern the perfect child to replace Amanda’s own.

He dresses, makes sure his hand is dry before clutching at the fox. He takes care to plaster on the smile that has been his constant companion for years- since the day of his activation, most likely.

He knows it is convincing, he knows that it passes for perfectly human.

Amanda commented on that.

A lot.

Now that they’re both on the same page, Connor will not be the one to mess this up.

Hank is sitting on the dining table face in hand, there is an unopened beer can in front of him, Sumo is nudging at his leg, whining unhappily as his owner continues to ignore him.

“Thank you for the clothes, Lieutenant.”

Connor was again dressed in clothes that almost fit him, a warm yellow sweater and grey sturdy pants. Clothes that belonged to the Lieutenant’s child -And what happened to him? When did he die? -

Hank looks up, and a wistful smile makes its way over his face when he catches sight of Connor.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, anytime kiddo.”

“I am sorry for my behavior earlier, Sir, I was simply… overwhelmed.” There, that should do it.

Hank sighs, rubbing at his eyes.

Connor frowns. That was not the reaction he anticipated.

“Yeah, we’re not doing this again.”

“Sir?”

“Sit down, Connor.” The man says, massaging his temples.

Connor sits.

Hank is watching him and the silence stretches.

Connor shifts in his seat, hands holding the fox in his lap, worrying at the fabric with his fingers, he maintains eyes contact because that seems like the polite thing to do.

He wonders if he should speak first.

“let’s get something straight here.” Hank says. “your stay here is not conditional. You should stop acting all- fuck- all robot-like and shit. I want you here and yeah okay I admit I reacted… like an ass when I found out about the whole android thing, there is no excuse for my actions, and I am sorry- fuck Connor, you have no idea how sorry I am-“

Connor starts to say something, but Hank raises his hand.

“No, wait. Listen first.” He implores.

Connor swallows, his throat is very tight.

 Hank takes in a deep breath. “Connor, I am sorry, I should not have threatened you. I know… I know that you probably do not trust me, and I understand, but I promise you that I will never intentionally harm or scare you.”

Connor blinks quickly worrying his lower lip between his teeth,

“Okay.”

Hank blinks. “Okay?” he asks, as if unsure it is that easy.

Connor shrugs, squeezing the fox’s arm in his hand, it is very soft. “I understand Lieutenant, you were upset, the reaction was understandable, and I do not blame you.”

“Jesus, No, kid, you’re not listening. That wasn’t okay, what I did was not okay.” He repeats.

Connor is –confused.

“I should not have aimed a gun at you, that was wrong, it was dangerous and fucking stupid. And should not have happened.”

Connor nods.

Hank gets this pinched look between his eyebrows, he looks like he’s going to continue with this train of thought. But then sighs, shaking his head. He looks- wrung  out and tired, it is not a flattering look and Connor is sorry to be the one causing it.

He just… he doesn’t understand what the man wants from him.

“That’s a nice fox you’ve got here.” Hank says instead, breaking the silence.

Connor smiles hesitantly, it is a very nice fox.

“Thank you, Alice gave it to me.”

Hank raises an eyebrow and he looks amused, it removes some of the stress lines off his face. “Who’s Alice?” he asks and there’s something about the tone…

“She’s an android child I met at J- where I was” He stops before he could utter the word Jericho he is unsure if it would mean anything to the human, and he’s pretty sure that Hank wouldn’t care… but well, it would feel like a betrayal. And the people of Jericho were very kind to him, they helped him and cared for him, he would not repay their kindness with betrayal.

If Hank noticed the slip-up, he didn’t show it, He simply hums before a yawn escapes out.

Connor, subconsciously, mimics him. “Yeah, I think it’s bed-time for the both of us.” Hank says.

Connor nods.

Hank stands up, then pauses, seeming to hesitate at something. He steels himself, and says “Would you like me to read you a story?”

Connor blinks, and when he registers the words, his mouth drops open in astonishment.

The smile is slow and steady as it blooms over his face. He thought those days were long behind him, he never expected he’d miss something as mundane as bedtime stories as fiercely as he does.

Amanda read him stories religiously.

It’s been… such a long time.

“Yes, please.” And it is vehement and breathless all at once.

Hank smiles back, it is small and sad, but it is soft and hazy with its edges blurred.

“Yeah? What would you like me to read?” Hank asks, standing up an offering Connor a hand.

Connor pauses –usually with Amanda, he’d have chosen one of the original Connor’s favorites… but now given the option…

“Do you have The Hobbit?” Connor asks hopefully, taking hold of the man’s sleeve and trying to tamp down on the excitement.

Hank let’s out an amused sound. “Jesus, now that’s old. Yeah kiddo I have that, let’s get you situated.”

Connor all but vibrates out of his seat.

He is warm and the prospect of a story -that he’d only skimmed but seemed like something he’d enjoy- was overwhelming, there is a warm bubble of contentment in his stomach that is slowly expanding and rising.

He realizes then, he is happy. He’s happy here.

“Thank you.” Connor says. And Hank must have assumed he means for the story, so he says “You’re welcome.” But doesn’t realize the full extent of Connor’s gratitude and wonder.

Connor doesn’t mind though. He doesn’t think he ever will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is so fucking late i'm sorry, I do not have any excuses... i procrastinated my long weekend away OTL   
> Anyway! this chapter had none of the things i actually planned for XD there were STUFF planned ( I even have a bulleted list of Things To Happen) but then Connor and his myriad of mental issues reared their ugly head and I had to at least address some of them.   
> So! tell me what you guys think, yeah?   
> -Sevansa


	15. XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. this is it :)

The end, when it comes, is a cumulation of scenes, seen through the safety of the screen… and experienced in tiny increments as the results slowly leak over the populace.

Hank sits in Cole’s old room; the windows are open for the first time in three years.

The cold is somewhat off-putting, but there is pale light filtering through, and the musty smell that has been all but a staple of the room is almost gone.

The room is preserved in the state it has been, before the accident. Like a still photograph of a time long since passed, toys are scattered on the floor, the desk chair isn’t as neat as it should be, the sheets are rumpled, there is a book still open on the bedside table.

It is as if Cole could come right through the door whining for pancakes any second now.

Hank had never dared to move anything in there. It felt… concrete.

He stands up, and his head feels fuzzy, and for once it isn’t from drink. Something is taking root in his stomach and rising, turning his hands shaky, his vision blurry.

The book was a generic fairy tale with talking dragons, fainting princesses and shining knights. He runs a finger over the worn pages, it comes back dusty and Hank is instantly struck with guilt; Cole loved that stupid book.

He sits -collapses- back onto the bed, closing his eyes.

There is a faint thought running through his head and it includes Connor, he dares not give it more attention less it takes form and consume him.

He takes a deep breath. This has been going on for long enough, maybe- maybe it’s time to put Cole to rest, he thinks. Standing up briskly and ignoring the rush of blood from his head, he soldiers through it, and with an efficiency that has been absent for a long while now, he starts to clean.

**

There is a tentative knock on the door. Hank looks up from the books he’s been sorting into piles to see Connor standing at the door tentatively, as if unsure of his welcome, a steaming cup of something in his hand.

“I poured you some coffee, Lieutenant.” He says, holding the cup in offering, eyes wary.

 Hank smiles, and if his eyes are a little damp, they don’t mention it.

He clears his throat self-consciously. “Thanks, kiddo. You didn’t have to.” He says. Sounding hoarse.

Connor shrugs, not meeting his eyes, but he moves closer anyway, his steps are careful and measured… he hands the cup over.

Hank takes a sip, not expecting much, and is pleasantly surprised to find it surprisingly sweet. He hums in approval. Connor looks proud.

He leaves the books for now and holding onto the warm mug, he sits on the bed, and pats the covers beside him. “Sit with me, Connor.”

 Connor does, as always, following instructions without hesitation. In any other child, such obedience would be commendable, but Hank… well he suspects that Amanda might not have been the best when dealing with the kid. There is also the faint nagging thought that maybe he’s _programmed_ obedient, he swallows and tries to ignore it. It is a pervasive thought, always there and he suspects he might not be able to rid himself of it fast enough, but he is willing to try, that’s something at least.

He sets the mug down with a clank and shifts to face the boy who’s fidgeting with his new toy.

“I don’t think I’ve told you before, but I used to have a son.” He says, and the words are thick in his throat, he has to fight to get them out, he has to fight to keep them pure, to not let the lurking darkness taint and twist them.

“I… I figured.” Connor mutters to the fox.

Hank smiles a small twitch of his lips that flatten again as fast as it came. “Yeah, you’re the clever type ain’tcha.” He says, and it is not mocking, regardless of how it ends up sounding.

Connor shrugs again his shoulders curling in.

Hank lets out an explosive sigh, disappointed in himself, in how bitter and terrible he could be… this is not how he wanted it to go.

He takes another sip on the coffee and lets the warmth seep into his fingers. When the darkness recedes back, and he feels more or less human once more, he speaks. Voice softer, tone gentler.

“His name was Cole. He was about your age, when he died.” He gets it out. His hands are shaking, the liquid is sloshing in his cup, he pretends it’s the fucking breeze and clenches his hand tighter, he takes vindictive pleasure in the settling of the liquid.

Connor doesn’t speak, but he shifts closer on the bed so that they’re pressed close, offering what little comfort he could.

Hank clears his throat.

“I want to make something clear-“He says and it is better, stronger, steadier. “- You are not here to replace Cole. I… I know it might take a while for you to believe it, but I do not expect anything from you and certainly not for you to pretend to be someone else. Cole was Cole and you are you… and I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else.” He ends, sort of embarrassed at the turn this conversation took… but, well-

It has to be said. Connor is a Child Replacement Model, it’s not out of the scope of reality to think that Hank would want him to act the part, and if this thing is going to work out, then it’s better if there’s no room for misunderstandings.   

There is a sniffle.

Hank pulls the kid close, keeping an arm around the thin shoulders.

They stay like this, each marinating in their own thoughts.

“Tell me about Cole?” Connor asks.

And Hank does.

**

It starts with a single text message from a blocked number, simply saying.

_Channel 16, watch._

Hank has a suspicion about the sender’s identity, but it is curiosity more than anything that prompts him to switch on the TV.

It takes a while for anything to happen, there is a generic newsreel playing, nothing that might interest him.

It is the middle of a tedious foreign affairs report, when the screens suddenly switch to the breaking news sign and a harried reporter could be heard over the loud rumble of the helicopter blades.

Connor gasps, and without much thought, he takes the kid’s hand in his, squeezing reassuringly, for on the screen, the androids are marching once more and this time, it feels different, it feels heavier. And he knows deep down that this is it, this would make or break this fragile revolution.

The beginning of an era. Whatever it may be.

Hank has half a mind to switch off the TV, take Connor to the kitchen, play house and pretend none of this is happening.

Denial has never been his strongest suit, and he suspects that Connor wouldn’t appreciate being kept in the dark… not for this.

He turns his attention back to the screen and is not surprised to find the Android leader speaking, calm and eloquent.

Markus is as consistent as he’d been since the moment he revealed himself.

He hopes that this won’t be violent, he prays – and fuck he hasn’t prayed in ages-  

 When the police open fire… Hank is dismayed, but not surprised.

Connor though, Connor is shaking so hard beside him, staring, eyes fixed on the screen watching the -ones who helped him? - as they fall one by one.

With every falling body, a flinch goes through him, his fists are clenched on each side.

The androids raise their hands in surrender, peaceful, from start to finish and even then, the humans wouldn’t hesitate to gun them down, it paints a fucking grim image. But human nature is what it is.

The images must have been too much for Connor because he crawls into Hank’s lap and burrows himself close. Hank freezes, this is the most contact the boy has initiated –ever, he thinks, running his hand through the kid’s hair. He is trembling.

The reporter narrates along the scenes.

Hank doesn’t care for the words, he is watching the androids’ expressions –resolute, grim.

 The androids have barricaded themselves in the cold, virtual banners holding their mark fluttering as it is programmed to do, and for one terrible, terrible second, Hank thinks of a story, one with barricades and hopeful, naïve children, all of them dying in vain.

His chest hurts.

“They are going to be alright? Right?” Connor asks, hushed.

Hank… he can’t answer, so instead he pats his head, and stays silent.

Connor must have understood -smart kid that he is- and he practically wilts.

They watch.

They watch as Markus tries to negotiate with the FBI, they do not hear what is being said, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that it failed.

They watch as the androids are savagely gunned down, barely retaliating, barely hurting the ones that kill them so easily.

They watch as what remains of the androids, a paltry number at best, are surrounded by guns from all sides.

They watch as they sing.

 By now, Connor is crying. Large hacking sobs rocking his frame, and Hank would be lying if he said his heart didn’t go out for them as well.

They watch as the end comes to them.

 

The story goes like this:

Once upon a time there were men and women who wanted their freedom so much, they were willing to risk death to gain it.

They fought and bled and suffered just so they could be equal to the ones who oppressed them.

They did their best.

But their just wasn’t good enough.

Except, that sometimes, things do not go as you think they will. Sometimes angels descend upon you with miracles at their fingertips, and what is impossible –suddenly, rapidly— becomes possible.

It ends like this:

The armored men retreat.

And in the distance, is a virtual army of androids, of all makes and models, led by two blonde androids, hand in hand.

Both are Chloes.

.

.

People talk after that, many speculate that the whole thing was engineered by Elijah Kamski himself. It is a very popular theory, till Kamski himself takes the CyberLife helm once more and the rumor mysteriously, disappear.

The androids are granted temporary asylum, until things could be hashed out. The decommissioning of androids is halted, and the android concentration camps are all but burned down.

There is chaos everywhere, protests, both for and against androids fill the streets, the public opinion is divided -though the ones against are a minority (would you look at that)-

Androids mostly stop working, which halts many of the production processes. A lot of sectors are hit and the Country is in a state of perpetual confusion.

But through it all, Markus and Jericho make a steady headway at securing equal rights for androids. It is a slow going but it is a step in the right direction.

It is the ushering of a new era.

Right there, that was history in the making.

Hank though… well, Hank doesn’t care for all of that, not really.

Hank has Connor with him, and they are learning how to live together, and for the first time in three years, Hank could feel himself beginning to heal.

** FIN. **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. wow. this has been a wild ride from start to finish. and i just want to say, thank you. to everyone who's read this far. to everyone who bothered with what i wrote and bothered to leave lovely, lovely comments.   
> I am grateful to every Kudo, ever subscription, every hit, every comment- you guys seriously don't know how easily you made my day those past few months.   
> I love you all, and i thank you.   
> -sevansa.

**Author's Note:**

> So! I am back with a new fandom. this one is intended to be a plotty multi-chaptered fic! hope you guys enjoy the Ride.  
> P.S- DO NOT EVER DRINK AND DRIVE THIS HAS BEEN YOUR FRIENDLY PSA.  
> you guys can find me on my tumblr http://sevansarr.tumblr.com/ i'd love to hear from you!  
> -Sevansa


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